THE 



REMAINS 



NATHANIEL APPLETON HAVEN. 



WITH A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE, 



BY GEORGE TICKNOR. 



SECOND EDITION. 



BOSTON: 

HILLIARD, GRAY, LITTLE, AND WILKINS. 

1828. 






.H 






\ ^7^ 



DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to wit : 

District Clerk's Office. 

BE it remembered, that on the tM'enty-second day of October, A. D. 1828, and in the 
fifty-third year of the Independence of the United States of America, Hilliard, Gray, 
Little, and Wilkins, of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a 
book, the right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to ivit -. 

" The Remains of Nathaniel Appleton Haven. With a Memoir of his Life, by 
George Ticknor." 

In conformity to an act of the Congress of the United States, entitled <' An 
act for the encoui-agement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and 
books to the authors and pi-oprietors of such copies during the times therein 
mentioned ; " and also to an act, entitled " An act supplementary to an act, 
entitled ' An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of 
maps, charts, and books to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the 
times therein mentioned ; ' and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, 
engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 

JNO. W. DAVIS, 
Clerk of the District of Massachusetts. 



CAMBRIDGE : 
HILLIARD, METCALF, AND COMPANY, 

Prmters to the University. 



TO JEREMIAH MASON, ESQ. 

THE EARLY, UNIFORM, AND IMPORTANT FRIEND OF MR. HAVEN, 
THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



A VOLUME, entitled " The Remains of Nathaniel Appleton 
Haven," was printed some months since. It was not pub- 
lished. The few copies of it, however, that were struck off 
as a memorial of him for his private friends, have been 
widely circulated and much sought after ; and those who 
prepared it have been earnestly solicited by persons, whose 
opinion the whole community is accustomed to respect, to 
permit it to be published in a form, which shall make it 
generally accessible and useful. They have for some time 
doubted, whether they should yield to this request. They 
shrink, as he would have done, from any thing like display. 
They prepared the volume originally only for his personal 
friends, and it contains some things not suited perhaps to a 
wider circulation. These have been their objections. But, 
on the other hand, reasons have been urged on them for its 
publication, which it is not necessary to repeat, but which 
they have not felt themselves authorized to resist. They 
have therefore consented, omitting some portions not inter- 
esting to the public, and devoting whatever of pecuniary 
advantage may be derived from it, to one of the institutions 



•VI ADVERTISEMENT. 

ivhich its author most cherished and supported. In doing 
this, however, it should be understood, that they have made 
no inconsiderable sacrifice of their private feelings, to what 
they have been taught to regard as their duty. 

Juhj 1, 1828. 



^> , $ 



CONTENTS. 



Memoir . . 


Page 
1 


Orations. 




Centennial Ora'.ion at Portsmouth . . . , 


35 


Oration before the O. B. K. at Dartmouth College 


. 56 



Papers read before the Forensic Society. 

On Tracts .69 

On the Character of Bonaparte 86 

On the Support of Public Worship 102 

On " Old Mortality " 112 

On the Character of Oliver Cromwell .... 129 

Papers published in "The Portsmouth Journal.'^ 

Balance of Trade 147 

Rate of Interest 163 

Political Science 167 

Bankrupt Laws 176 

Sunday Schools. 

Letter to a Friend on Sunday Schools .... 191 

Address to the Teachers of a Sunday School . . . 205 



VIU CONTENTS. 

Miscellaneous Pieces. 

Character of a Lawyer .,.,... 227 

Economy in Public Service ...... 233 

Caucuses 236 

Principle of Speculation 240 

Nature and Duties of a Christian Church . . , 244 

Poetry. 

Orpheus, translations 257 

A Fragment 261 

Lines on Frederic the Great 263 

The Purse of Charity 265 

Hymn 266 

Farewell to the Year 268 

Autunm 270 

Confirmation 272 

The New Year 273 

Correspondence . . . . • . . . . . 277 



MEMOIR 



MEMOIR. 



Nathaniel Appleton Haven was born in Portsmouth, 
New-Hampshire, on the fourteenth of January, seventeen 
hundred and ninety. His father, who was graduated at 
Harvard College in 1779, was, for several years, a physi- 
cian, and afterwards a merchant; but, amidst many cares 
and labors, always found time to serve his friends and coun- 
try, and, at an anxious period, represented New-Hampshire 
in the Congress of the United States, maintaining there, un- 
der trying and difficult circumstances, an upright and disin- 
terested character. The paternal grandfather of Mr. Ha- 
ven was the Rev. Dr. Samuel Haven, who died in 1806, 
having been fifty-four years a faithful pastor of the South 
Church in Portsmouth, and having, with very small means, 
educated, in the best way the country would afford, a singu- 
larly large family, which has, in consequence of it, exerted 
an important influence on society ever since. 

The first wife of Mr. Haven's grandfather was Miss Ap- 
pleton, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Nathaniel Appleton of 
Cambridge, who died in 1784, having been above sixty-six 
years pastor of the church with which Harvard College was 
then connected, and having maintained, during that long 
period, a consideration never granted to talents alone. Mr. 
Haven's father was educated by Dr. Appleton, and bore 



4 MEMOIR. 

his name, which he again gave to his only son, the subject 
of this memoir, transmitting to him, at the same time, not a 
little of what was most wise and valuable in the patriarchal 
spirit of his ancestors, one of whom was thus permitted to 
exert, far into the nineteenth century, the influences of a 
character formed amidst the stern and self-denying disci- 
pline of the seventeenth. 

These were the paternal ancestors of Mr. Haven. His 
mother, whose original name was Mary Tufton Moffat, was 
descended from John Tufton Mason, the well known gran- 
tee of a large portion of the state of New-Hampshire. She 
was adopted and educated by her uncle General William 
Whipple, one of the persons, who signed the declaration of 
Independence of the United States ; and, from his family, 
she was, in 1786, married to the father of Mr. Haven. Mr. 
Haven, therefore, descended alike from the Puritan clergy 
and the adventurous settlers of the country, was born under 
those circumstances, which, in a community like ours, are 
most favorable to the developement of wise and useful talent. 

The early youth of Mr. Haven is not remembered to 
have been marked by any indications of a strong character. 
On the contrary, until he was three years old, his general 
appearance was so unobtrusive, and he took so little inter- 
est in the plays and occupations of childhood, that some of 
his family, and particularly his venerable grandfather, feared 
he might prove deficient in understanding. But soon after 
this, a marked change appeared. He learned to read more 
easily than is common to children ; showed great docility 
and sometimes eagerness in the pursuit of knowledge suited 
to his years ; and very soon gave proofs and instances of 
self-government, which afterwards became a habit with him, 
and proved, at last, one of the most remarkable features in 
his character. 



MEMOIR. O 

The first ten years of his life were spent at home, under 
the personal instructions of his father. He grew up, an af- 
fectionate and promising child, with a strong tendency to in- 
tellectual pursuits, but with feeble health and a delicate con- 
stitution. In 1800, when he was ten years old, having 
already begun his Latin studies, he was sent to Phillips 
Academy in Exeter. His health, while he was there, con- 
tinued uncertain, and he was occasionally attacked with an 
inflammation of his eyes, which sometimes rendered it doubt- 
ful, whether he would be able to prosecute his studies with 
success. But his care and perseverance, at last, prevailed. 
At the age of a little more than twelve, he was already pre- 
pared for admission at college. His father, however, well 
considered, that the studies which ought to be pursued at 
such a place for instruction could not be adapted to a mind 
so young, and held back his son yet one year longer, until 
the summer of 1803, when he left the academy at Exeter 
with the testimony of its excellent Principal, that he was 
one of a few scholars, who had been under his care, in the 
course of many years, whose education had been to him a 
pleasure and not a task. 

From 1803 to 1807 he was a member of Harvard Col- 
lege. The period passed at college, when the restraints of 
childhood are with many for the first time thrown off, is 
sometimes an important, and sometimes even a deciding 
portion of life. But, with Mr. Haven, it was simply what 
Sir William Blackstone calls it, " an awkward interval " ; 
for these four years were always regarded by him as the 
most unprofitable part of his life. During some of them, 
he was doubtful whether he had not better entirely leave 
college, where he found himself by no means favorably sit- 
uated for the intellectual progress he desired. During oth- 
ers, there were disturbances and troubles ; much idleness 
and much misspent time ; and, during all of them, he felt 
1* 



b MEMOIR. 

even then, and constantly lamented afterwards, the want of 
a wiser discipline and a generous and liberal system of stud- 
ies, which would permit the pupil to choose what would be 
most appropriate to his future purposes in life. His instruc-. 
ters, however, found no reason to complain of his conduct 
or character. They were not unaware, that he avoided, as 
much as possible, some branches of study ; but they knew, 
that, in others, he did more than was required of him ; and 
his relative rank in his class was such, that, if he was com- 
pelled afterwards to look back with mortification on this 
part of his life, the fault must be charged to others rather 
than to himself. At any rate, having passed through the for- 
mal term prescribed, he was, at last, graduated with distin- 
guished honors ; and, if his college life left no other valuable 
traces behind it, he always remembered with gratitude some 
of the attachments he there formed, among which none was 
deeper than that subsisting between himself and his class- 
mate Mr. Gallison, whose kindred talents and character 
early brought them together, and kept them much united 
until they were separated by death. 

A few days before Mr. Haven was to receive the honors 
of the coilege, in August, 1807, he was seized with a violent 
illness, which for some time threatened to prove fatal. His 
recovery was slow ; and, as his friends afterwards thought, 
his constitution received a shock from this illness, which 
was never entirely overcome. As soon, however, as his 
strength was sufficiently restored, he went to Exeter, where 
he had been elected assistant teacher in the Institution, in 
which he had already passed three happy and useful years 
as a pupil. Mr. Haven was well fitted for the situation he 
now occupied and the circumstances in which he was 
placed ; and the effects of both on his habits and character 
were important and lasting. He went over again the clas- 
sical studies he had pursued at -college with great predilec- 



MEMOIR. 7 

tion, and began others in some respects higher and more 
severe. He found himself in the midst of a society, whose 
standard and tone were more elevated than any, in which 
he had before borne a part, and whose spirit he felt to be 
calling upon him for greater exertions than he had yet 
made. He was, too, gradually coming nearer to the busi- 
ness of life, and naturally felt its stirring influences, as he 
approached it. On all accounts, therefore, the year Mr. 
Haven now passed in Exeter was among the most interest- 
ing of his life ; on one account, it was among the most for- 
tunate. He had never before mingled freely in society. 
Its influence, therefore, like its influence on every fresh 
and ardent mind, was necessarily great ; and it was his hap- 
piness, that the young friends to whom he now became at- 
tached, were persons of uncommon endowments, who were, 
like himself, eager in the pursuit of improvement, and gave 
the same impulse to his spirit, which they gladly received 
from him in return. 

Another circumstance rendered this a peculiarly impor- 
tant year in Mr. Haven's life. He was naturally and al- 
most necessarily called upon, in the course of it, to make 
his final decision as to the profession he would pursue. It 
was a subject indeed on which his thoughts had long been 
occupied ; but its consequences were to decide so much of 
his future usefulness and happiness, that he now deliberated 
upon it with new care. His inclinations, for some time, 
had tended strongly towards divinity. His early education 
in his father's house had been such as a child receives, who 
is surrounded with religious influences and guarded by 
christian affection ; but who hears nothing of theological 
controversy. Very soon, however, he was told by others 
of dogmas and creeds, and listened to public instructions 
from the pulpit, in the severest forms of Calvinism. These 
he, for some time, believed to be essential to Christianity ; 



b MEMOIR. 

and the consequence was, that in his Junior year at college, 
he was agitated by painful doubts respecting its divine au- 
thority. But it was not for a mind like his, long to continue 
in such bondage. He read Paley's " Evidences," the little 
tract of Priestley's — " An Appeal to the Serious and Candid 
Professors of Christianity," and the " Letters to Wilberforce, 
by a Layman." By the careful study of these and other 
books, he gradually returned to happy and settled views of 
christian faith, but not to the creed of Geneva. Even before 
he left college, there are found among his papers proofs of 
the opening of a devout spirit ; and, during the year he now 
passed at Exeter, they are not to be mistaken. The inter- 
est he took in the religious character of his pupils, the zeal 
and fidelity of his instructions, and the purity of his example, 
are still fresh in the memory of those with whom he was as- 
sociated in the task he had undertaken ; while many prayers, 
which he composed at this time, and which still remain 
among his papers, show how solemn he considered the na- 
ture of his duties to be, and how entirely he relied upon God 
for the strength necessary to fulfil them. Indeed, on all ac- 
counts, there can be no doubt, that, from this period of his 
life, religion constituted the foundation of his character, and 
essentially governed his conduct and life. 

It was natural, therefore, that, being called at such a 
time to make choice of a profession, he should have first 
thought of theology. But many circumstances opposed 
what, if his inclination alone had been consulted, might 
probably have been his final choice. His general health 
was not strong ; his eyesight was doubtful ; and, besides, 
he was the only son in his family, who thus seemed to 
require him to choose no pursuit, that would necessarily 
remove him from their immediate neighbourhood. He, 
therefore, reluctantly gave up the study of divinity, and de- 
termining to devote himself to the law, left Exeter in the 



MEMOIR. 9 

autumn of 1808, carrying with him the permanent attach- 
ment of many, v/ho had been drawn to him by the fine tal- 
ents and interesting quaUties in his character, which had 
there been so fast unfolded. 

In January, 1809, he began the study of the lawj under 
the direction of Mr. Mason of Portsmouth, a counsellor of 
distinguished powers, whose sagacious and penetrating mind 
always seemed to make itself felt with peculiar effect in 
personal intercourse with other minds capable of receiving 
its influences and understanding its character. Mr. Haven 
was a favorite pupil with him ; and the generous excite- 
ment, therefore, which had been awakened at Exeter, was 
not only continued but increased during the three years he 
now devoted to the preparatory studies in his profession. 
They were, probably, the three most laborious years of his 
life ; certainly they were the three years in which he read 
the greatest number of books. Study, indeed, was now his 
great object, and he devoted himself to it with such earnest- 
ness as to give up society, in a degree remarkable for his 
age, and to avoid all common pleasures and recreations, lest 
they should unfit his mind for the pursuits in which he was 
so much interested. 

Before he began the profession of the law, he had ac- 
quired an intellectual discipline and settled habits of appli- 
cation, very unusual for his years. It seemed already to cost 
him no labor, to adopt and pursue a regular course of legal 
studies, and to devote to them a suitable portion of each 
day. Mr. Mason has said, he never knew a young man, 
beginning the pursuit of the law, to whom it was apparent- 
ly so easy to observe a proper order and method. By thus 
adhering diligently to a prescribed course of professional 
study, his proficiency was much greater than ordinary ; 
while, by a wise economy of time, he had sufficient leisure 
left for classical reading and critical speculations, which he 



10 MEMOIR. 

always loved and never neglected. Even in these pursuits, 
also, which he considered rather as recreations, he had a 
fixed course, and therefore avoided the waste of time so 
common to many young students, who read on such subjects 
only what accident throws into their hands. 

But the strict adherence to order and method, which was 
thus early so prominent in Mr. Haven's character, and 
which always continued to distinguish it, would not alone 
have carried him forward so fast and so far in his profes- 
sional studies, as he advanced during these three years. 
He was led on mainly, I think, by an elevated idea of the 
profession itself, and of the responsibilities and duties that 
would fall upon him, when he should undertake its practice. 
He had a lofty example before him ; and he placed his 
mark high. Among some memoranda, set down during 
this period of his life, I find the following striking remarks. 
" Where is the heau icUcd of the profession of law to be 
found ? Not in Coke, nor Saunders, nor Blackstone. 
Perhaps in the oratorical works of Cicero, or in the writ- 
ings of the great masters of national jurisprudence. Hon- 
orable success can never be attained without an elevated 
opinion of the profession in which we are engaged. In the 
practice of the law, this is emphatically true. For who 
would bear the labors of the preparation, the tedious anxiety 
of a client, the obstinacy of a witness, the dulness of a jury, 
for the fee he receives ? And yet, this is the only object, 
with a majority of the profession. But the man of real 
dignity, who looks to something more than mere wealth for 
his reward, carries in his mind an image of excellence, to 
which he is continually aspiring. ' Fame is the spur, that 
the clear spirit doth raise.' " 

In the midst of his professional studies, however, he did 
not overlook or neglect elegant literature, or civil history. 
The last, indeed, he considered a branch of his duty as a 



MEMOIR. 1 1 

lawyer, and pursued it with great earnestness for a series 
of years ; and to the first, he gave much of his leisure with 
a fond preference. He read, at this period, with great de- 
light, the poets and prose writers of the time of Queen Eliz- 
abeth and James the First ; finished the study of French, 
which he had begun before, though he never took a strong 
interest in French literature ; and made some progress in 
Italian. But, in every plan of studies he arranged, the an- 
cient orators, poets, and historians held a prominent place. 
" They greatly err," he once said, " who suppose learning 
and polite knowledge to be inconsistent with a profound ac- 
quaintance with the law. Of the aid, which legal science 
may derive from polite literature, no greater example can 
be required than Lord Mansfield. A lawyer, like an ora- 
tor, should be ' omni laude cumulatus.' " On another oc- 
casion, speaking of the studies of a lawyer, he said, " The 
two great masters of ancient eloquence should be continu- 
ally before him. * * * He should embody all the 
qualities of ideal excellence, which he can derive from their 
writings, and place it before him, as a model to which he 
must continually aspire ; but which he can never hope to 
equal. It was this pursuit of ideal excellence, which made 
Demosthenes an orator, and Cicero a consul." It was, I 
doubt not, in a great degree, because Mr. Haven thought 
so highly of his profession as a moral science, and had so 
well settled his opinions about it, even while studying its 
elements, that he pursued it with such earnestness, perse- 
verance, and success. 

In May 1809, he visited Washington, where he spent 
some weeks, during an interesting and exciting session of 
Congress in Mr. Madison's first Presidency, and became 
acquainted with many of the persons then most distinguish- 
ed, whether in the administration of affairs or in the oppo- 
sition. It was altogether a curious e.xhibition, which he 



12 MEMOIR. 

was able the better to understand, because his father was 
then a member of the House of Representatives ; and it 
seems to have served him as a source of instruction, during 
the whole of his life afterwards. Except this visit in Wash- 
ington, however, Mr. Haven was little absent from home, 
during the time he was pursuing his studies preparatory to 
his being admitted to the bar. Once, indeed, he made a 
journey for his health into the northern portions of New- 
Hampshire, with which he thus became acquainted, and as- 
cended, with a party of friends, to the summit of the White 
Hills. And, in August 1810, when he received his degree 
of Master of Arts, he visited Cambridge, and delivered the 
Latin valedictory of his class. But, excepting these short 
absences, he remained quietly and earnestly devoted to the 
study of his profession in Portsmouth, avoiding all common 
amusements, and, in some measure, even society, for fear 
his mind should lose the tone best fitted to the high studies 
on which he was employed, and from which he allowed 
himself no relaxation, except such as he found in the pur- 
suit of history and elegant literature. 

At the end of the accustomed term of study, in Decem- 
ber, 1811, he was admitted to the bar. But he did not, at 
once, begin the practice of the law. He had long indulged 
the hope, which is seldom successfully repressed in the 
minds of young men, eager in the pursuit of knowledge and 
with means that will warrant its gratification ; the hope, I 
mean, of visiting Europe, and becoming acquainted with a 
state of society, where, in many respects, the human mind 
is further advanced, than it is in our own country. Mr. 
Haven sometimes amused himself, with tracing this desire 
to see foreign countries, to an early fondness for accounts of 
voyages and travels ; and used to say, that, out of a great 
number of books, which he read for his entertainment as a 
boy, none left a permanent impression on his mind, except 



MEMOIR. 13 

*' Cook's Voyages round the World." This, perhaps, 
had its effect; for " Cook's Voyages" is among the most 
interesting books in the reading of every one. But it is, 
probably, more natural and reasonable to look for some 
more general cause, and consider Mr. Haven simply as a 
young man of an ardent mind, who lived in a commercial 
capital ; who was the son of a merchant in extensive busi- 
ness ; who every day saw persons fresh from foreign coun- 
tries and full of the spirit of adventure ; and whose own main 
occupation in life was with books written in those countries, 
and needing, for their full understanding and enjoyment, 
much local knowledge, and much knowledge of modes of 
thinking and acting, which can never be obtained elsewhere. 
But whatever may have first excited in his mind the de- 
sire to visit Europe, the period most suitable for its gratifi- 
cation, especially if a long absence was implied, was evi- 
dently the one immediately following the completion of his 
studies as a lawyer, and before he should begin the practice 
of his profession. Foreseeing this, he began his prepara- 
tion early, and among his papers are found many memoran- 
da, made while he was a student at law, which would have 
facilitated the fulfilment of his purposes. But, at the mo- 
ment, when he seemed nearest to the gratification of his 
wishes, he was suddenly cut off from them. His eyes, 
which from childhood had been feeble, were attacked with 
a violent inflammation, which continued from early in the 
spring of 1812, until after the declaration of war in the June 
following, when all intercourse with Europe was suspended. 
The disappointment was very great ; but the personal suf- 
fering and privation were still greater. For three months, 
he was shut up in a darkened room, and, the greater part 
of that time, he was confined to his bed, enduring severe 
pain. Even when he was so far recovered, as to be able to 
go abroad into the light, the effects of this illness remained 
2 



14 MEMOIR. 

in his constitution. During ten years, he was able to read 
only in the daytime ; sometimes only a small portion of the 
day ; so that, for a most important period of his life, he was 
deprived of means of improvement, which seemed to be es- 
sential to the kind of success he sought. 

But the beneficial effects of this visitation of God's provi- 
dence, though, perhaps, not so immediate, and certainly not 
so obtrusive, were more important and lasting. Mr. Ha- 
ven's mind, during this long period of suffering and priva- 
tion, underwent a striking moral discipline. His thoughts 
were turned inward, and gained a clearness and exactness, 
which they never lost afterwards ; his powers of reflection 
and reasoning were strengthened by solitary and silent ex- 
ercise ; his faculties became harmoniously balanced ; and 
his own judgment of himself, of his objects in life, and of 
the means he possessed to accomplish them, were finally 
settled. I have no doubt, he was a wiser and better man, 
for this illness, all his life afterwards. 

Perhaps one circumstance contributed, at this particular 
time, to give a more than commonly serious direction to his 
thoughts. In March, 1813, just before he was confined by 
this distressing illness, he had publicly professed his belief 
in the Christian religion and become a member of the 
church, over which his venerable grandfather had so long 
been the pastor. His mind had been, for some months, de- 
termined on this point, and, indeed, his education and feel- 
ings had long tended to it. But the particular time he se- 
lected, was certainly appropriate. He had just finished the 
study of his profession ; the world was more distinctly and 
immediately before him than it had been at any previous 
period of his life ; and he was just about to encounter its 
cares and assume its responsibilities. He paused for a mo- 
ment, therefore, on the threshold, and first publicly dedi- 
cated himself to God. In doing this, he neither expressed 



MEMOIR. 15 

nor entertained any superstitious feeling. He attributed no 
particular efficacy to the rite he sought, except as a means 
of increasing his reverence for the religion, he was no less 
bound to obey without it. He approached the altar of 
Christianity, therefore, simply in a spirit of great humility, 
making no professions of his own piety, but humbly express- 
ing his belief, and praying that he might be strengthened 
to show his faith in his life and conduct. 

Entering on the world under such circumstances, and, 
after so much suffering, disappointment, and reflection, Mr. 
Haven naturally began to take his part in its concerns with 
seriousness and caution. The state of his eyesight would 
not permit him to study much ; but such intellectual labor 
as he could perform, he performed carefully and faithfully. 
In 1814, he delivered the oration in Portsmouth, on the 
anniversary of our national independence. The appoint- 
ment to this duty is proof of public estimation, towards one 
so young, and the performance itself was creditable to his 
talents, to the purity of his feelings, and to his steady devo- 
tion to public improvement ; but the subjects discussed in 
it, were many of them suited only to the times, and, there- 
fore, it is not here reprinted. He opened an office and 
continued the pursuit of his profession, as he had begun it 
while a student, reading it particularly in its higher branch- 
es with much interest and to good effect. His literary 
studies, too, were neither forgotten nor neglected ; and, 
though he could not permit himself to give much time to 
them, yet the progress he made was constant and even re- 
markable. In this way, then, he passed the three melan- 
choly years of the war with Great Britain ; not, indeed, in 
active business as a lawyer, for there was little of such busi- 
ness then to be done, and he could hardly be said to seek 
even his share of it ; but he passed the time in thorough 
studies, that laid the surest foundations for his future use- 
fulness. 



1 6 MEMOIR. 

But when, at last, the war with Great Britain was over, 
his desire to visit Europe was much diminished. He had 
formed that attachment, on which a great proportion of ev- 
ery man's happiness is left to depend, and to which his 
own was soon afterwards finally and safely trusted ; and it 
could not, therefore, be expected, that he should now un- 
dertake any plan of life, which would involve so long an ab- 
sence from home, as he had originally intended. One cir- 
cumstance, however, induced him to make, at least, a short 
visit to Europe. A sister, younger than himself, to whom 
he had always been much attached, and to whose improve- 
ment he had devoted much time, was in feeble and failing 
health, and her physicians prescribed a voyage to her as 
the surest remedy. Under these circumstances, Mr. Haven 
did not hesitate. He embarked at Boston on the sixteenth 
of April, 1815, with his sister and a party of friends, whose 
society made the passage and the absence more than com- 
monly agreeable to him, and was landed at Liverpool on the 
twelfth of May. 

When he sailed from the United States, the last accounts 
from Europe left the world in a state of such profound 
peace, that it was generally supposed the ancient order of 
things had been finally restored by Bonaparte's exile to 
Elba. But the first news he heard from the pilot, as he 
approached England, was, that the Emperor was reestab- 
lished on his throne with the consent of the French people, 
and that all Europe was in arms again to dispossess him. 
This state of things, however, which at first seemed to con- 
found all his plans, served, at last, as circumstances were 
developed, only to render his visit in Europe more interest- 
ing, since his residence there embraced nearly the whole of 
the hundred days of Bonaparte's second government of 
France, with the struggles and arrangements that followed, 
to settle down the world yet once more upon its ancient; 
foundations. 



MEMOIR. 17 

Almost immediately after landing in England, Mr. Haven 
proceeded to London, passing, however, first through some 
of the most beautiful and romantic portions of the Principal- 
ity of Wales. He was in London, when those memorable 
discussions happened in Parliament, that immediately pre- 
ceded the battle of Waterloo, and often listened to them. 
He was there, too, when that decisive battle was fought ; 
and, amidst the festivities, illuminations, and rejoicings that 
followed, witnessed much of its effect upon the British peo- 
ple, then at the height of their power, and conscious of the 
supremacy they enjoyed. And he shared much of the stir- 
ring spirit that was abroad, wherever he went, and felt how 
fortunate it was for him to be in the heart of the greatest 
empire of the world, when its elements were so deeply 
shaken, that he was permitted to see revealed much of the 
machinery and excitement by which its whole mass is 
moved. 

Early in July, however, as soon as quiet began to be re- 
stored on the continent, he went over to Holland, embarking 
at Harwich and landing at Helvoetsluys. He spent only 
a short time in that singular country, dividing it chiefly 
among Amsterdam, the Hague, Leyden, and Utrecht ; and 
then passing into the Netherlands, visited Antwerp and 
Brussels. From Brussels, he went to Waterloo, still fresh 
with the carnage that had happened only a few days before. 
It was a spectacle, whose horrors can hardly be imagined 
by one who has not witnessed them. For those who have 
seen fields of battle, which time and care have made like 
other fields, or which, at most, are distinguished only by a 
few graceful monuments of art, that mark the spot, without 
revealing the terrors that have passed on it, can hardly ap- 
prehend what are, the feelhigs of one, who visits a wide and 
open field, where all is still trampled down, burnt, and 
blackened with the desolation of recent strife ; where the 
2* 



18 MEMOIR. 



very air of summer breathes only of death ; and where, 
amidst the ghastly fragments and ruins, that are on all sides 
scattered around, if a spot is seen marked with the hand of 
kindness or care, it is sure to be a grave. Mr. Haven 
passed a day at Waterloo. He was led through all its re- 
cent horrors, by those who had shared them ; and the im- 
pression it made on him, was, as might be expected from a 
spirit tempered like his, never effaced afterwards. 

On leaving the Netherlands, he would gladly have gone 
to Paris ; but France was still too little settled to make a 
visit to its capital agreeable for a party, in which were both 
ladies and invalids. Mr. Haven and his friends, therefore, 
came round by Ostend, Dunkirk, and Calais ; and then 
crossing over again to England, proceeded, at once, to Lon- 
don. London, however, in August, offered few induce- 
ments to him, while the agricultural portions of England 
offered many. He set out, then, very soon on a consider- 
able tour, in which, beginning with Hampton-Court and 
Windsor, he visited Oxford, Blenheim, Stratford upon Avon, 
several of those seats and castles of the nobility, which 
distinguish England from every other country in the world, 
and several of the manufacturing districts, which distin- 
guish it hardly less ; and then came down to the coast at 
Liverpool. There he embarked for the United States, and 
reached Boston on the 28th of November, 1815, having 
accomplished the main object of his absence in the restora- 
tion of his sister's health, and bringing with him a valuable 
library and much interesting and useful knowledge of the 
modes of living, thinking, and conduct, in countries so dif- 
ferent from our own. 

The world was now again before him, with its cares and 
duties, and he was, in many respects, to begin it anew. 
About a month after he returned home, on the eighth of Jan- 
uary, 1816, he was married to his cousin, Eliza Wentworth 



I 



MEMOIR. 19 

Haven. Few persons have enjoyed more of the purest do- 
mestic happiness than fell to his lot, during the ten remain- 
ing years of his life ; — not that he was without sorrows and 
disappointments, for he had more than most persons of his 
age, in the loss of children and friends ; — but his marriage 
was the result of a deep attachment, and its happiness was 
secured and sustained by the influence of that religion, 
which is so peculiarly adapted to the quiet and peace of do- 
mestic life. He was, too, remarkably sensible to what he 
enjoyed, and fully aware of the sources from which it flowed. 
He was married with religious hopes ; and the last letter he 
ever wrote, and one, which was written without any ap- 
prehension of his approaching illness and death, bears wit- 
ness, in a very remarkable manner, to their entire fulfilment. 
Indeed, in all his relations with his own family, Mr. Haven 
eminently enjoyed the peculiar happiness, which a Christian 
should seek. For Christianity was not with him a thing of 
forms and decencies. It was a pervading principle, which 
entered into all his concerns, all his thoughts, all his hopes. 
He had no interests so strong or ambitious, that they were 
not controlled by it ; no happiness so reserved, that re- 
ligion was not a part of it. As the head of a family, in 
particular, he devoted himself earnestly and continually to 
the religious instruction and improvement of his household 
and dependents, drawing the tender minds of his children 
early to God, and interesting their young and unoccupied 
hearts in those simple views of religion, which were suited 
to their simple thoughts and years. Two beautiful and 
promising children were, at different times, taken from him, 
when his hopes and happiness in them were as full as a 
father's ever were. He suffered on both occasions most 
severely ; but each time, as soon as death had set the final 
seal on his hopes, he collected his family, and, by religious 
rites and religious persuasions, tranquillized their minds and 



20 MEMOIR. 

prepared them and himself to resume, at once, the ordinary 
duties of life. But he never afterwards seemed to be sep- 
arated in thought from the children he had thus lost ; and, 
when speaking of them, evidently felt, as if they were only 
removed to an adjacent apartment, where he should soon 
and certainly rejoin them. Indeed, in all things and on all 
occasions, in the even tenor of common enjoyments, in 
sickness, in sorrow, and in death, whatever might occur, 
his own spirit and the spirits of those nearest to him re- 
mained balanced by religious principle, or if they were dis- 
turbed, were disturbed but for a moment ; and those who be- 
came intimate in the circle, which his affection had gathered 
round him, and which his gentleness retained under his in- 
fluence, felt, that it was good for them to be there. 

Mr. Haven was, in truth, a religious man in all things. 
In his opinions, which he had formed with great care, he 
belonged undoubtedly to the class of those who are called 
Liberal Christians, in distinction from the Calvinists ; and 
yet it is not probable, that his speculations would entirely 
agree with those of the leaders in any sect ; for he was too 
deeply and solemnly persuaded of his own personal respon- 
sibility, to trust any part of his religious character to human 
authority. He examined the Scriptures devoutly, in the un- 
yielding spirit of Protestantism, and received with gladness 
whatever he was persuaded had been taught by Jesus Christ 
and his Apostles. His opinions, therefore, particularly on 
the more doubtful points of speculation, were not, at every 
period of his life, precisely the same, nor, at any period, 
precisely like the opinions of those with whom he most 
associated. He, however, who pursues his Christian inqui- 
ries with such candor and solemnity, is little likely to be im- 
bued with the spirit of sectarism and controversy. Mr. Ha- 
ven was remarkably free from both ; and, in the latter part 
of his life especially, he seemed to be further and further 



i 



* MEMOIR. 21 

removed from them. Desiring, as he did, above every 
thing else, the improvement and elevation of the condition 
and character of society, he stood on that high ground, 
where party dissensions never reach, and where the desire 
of proselyting men to a sect, is lost in the great and preva- 
lent desire to make them wiser, and better, and happier. 
Although he was much surrounded with controversy, there- 
fore, Mr. Haven did not share its spirit. On the contrary, 
he always delighted, amidst the conflicts of party, to dis- 
cover how much of the contention was for words only ; and 
his constant eifort was not, to fortify himself in his own 
opinions, however carefully and conscientiously formed, but 
to enlarge that common ground, on which all Christians 
may meet in confidence and charity. 

Immediately after his marriage, he engaged again in the 
practice of his profession. But he was not urged on by that 
inevitable pecuniary necessity, which is, perhaps, a stimulus 
needful for young lawyers ; and, therefore, did not apply 
himself very earnestly to common business. To the affairs 
of the poor and the unprotected, indeed, though ever so 
humble, he gave unwearied attention ; and, perhaps, no one 
of his age among us ever had charge of the concerns of so 
many widows and orphans, for v/hich he received no com- 
pensation. Nearly the whole of such business, however, 
was merely mechanical, and his mind was one, which could 
not be satisfied without intellectual pursuits of a high order. 
He turned, therefore, again to his books and to the more 
difiicult parts of his profession, giving them a great propor- 
tion of his time, and studying the law as an elevated moral 
science, worthy of the best efforts of his faculties. In this 
way, he made himself a well read, sound, and able lawyer ; 
but his practice, during the nine years he now gave to it, 
was not extensive, and the literary studies he pursued, and 



22 MEMOIR. 

the literary projects he finally formed, prevented him from 
being desirous much to enlarge it.* 

But, though Mr. Haven's attention was not engrossed by 
the common business of his profession, he did not become a 
merely contemplative student, retired from the world and 
from active usefulness. On the contrary, he devoted much 
of the time, which was thus left at his command, to public 
objects ; and especially showed himself always willing to 
make exertions in favor of any thing which he thought 
would tend to raise the religious, moral, and intellectual 
condition of the whole mass of society in which his life was 
to be passed. 

Among these, none interested bird more than a Sunday 
school, established on the most liberal principles and destined 
to exert a wide influence. He had become persuaded, by 
personal intercourse with the poor, and by a familiarity with 
their habits and condition, to which he had long been accus- 
tomed, that much of the misery and vice of society is to be 
traced to a neglect of moral and religious instruction of the 
young, which he believed to be more gross and extensive 
than is generally supposed. By his exertions, therefore, a 
Sunday school was opened in 1818, depending for its sup- 
port on the society of the South Parish in Portsmouth, but re- 
ceiving all children, that chose to resort to it. It was filled 
at once. The instructions were carefully adapted to the 
capacities and wants of the individual children. They were 
given kindly and with affectionate interest, by a large num- 
ber of zealous teachers ; and the children, in their turn, soon 
became interested both in their instructers and in what they 

* At the time of his death, Mr. Haven was making arrangements to 
edite and publish an American Annual Register. In his hands, such a 
Work would have been of great value ; and might have done for us 
what Dodsley's Annual Register, in the hands of Burke, did for Great 
Britain. 



MEMOIR. 23 

were taught. The effect upon society was visible in less 
than four years. Children, who, at the beginning of that pe- 
riod, had been received squalid and ignorant, and who would 
have remained so, had been gradually led to become careful 
and thoughtful ; while those, who came at first better pre- 
pared from their domestic relations, had been carried onward 
faster and further than they would have been by any merely 
domestic instructions. It was, indeed, an institution, hum- 
ble in its pretensions ; but one which diffused much im- 
provement and happiness, acting often on the characters of 
the parents hardly less than on those of the pupils, and ex- 
tending a valuable influence even to the teachers themselves. 
Mr. Haven, in particular, often said it had been useful to 
himself, and always took a strong interest in it. He gave 
much time, which he greatly valued, in preparing himself 
for his lessons, which were sometimes of a character so ele- 
vated, that his faculties and knowledge were tasked to fulfil 
them ; * but he had the happiness to live long enough to see 
several, whom he had received into the school at its first 
opening, and who had obtained in it their principal religious 
instruction, become, in their turn, its efficient teachers, and 
thus prove the entire success of the system, while they, at 
the same time, ensured its continuance. 

Mr. Haven was interested in few things, during his life, 
more than in this Sunday school. And this might well be 
anticipated ; for the number of children, who received its 
instructions, was very great ; and, though he had excellent 



* Mr. Haven made a great sacrifice, in giving up his Sundays to 
this school; for he held it to be very important to make Sunday a 
cheerful and happy day to his children .and family, by giving himself 
up to them almost entirely. He rose earlier on this day than on any 
other ; and read and conversed much with his children, to whom he 
succeeded in rendering it, what it certainly always ought to be, the 
happiest day in the week. 



24 MEMOIR. 

friends who cooperated with him earnestly, he was himself 
its moving and governing spirit. That he felt the respon- 
sibility and was much excited by it to exertion, there can 
be no doubt. His papers are full of it. There are many 
prayers that he offered up for it ; great numbers of memo- 
randa, which he used in his instructions ; many hints for its 
improvement and extension; and an excellent practical " Ad- 
dress," which he delivered before its teachers, to explain to 
them their duties, and urge them to zeal and activity. Let 
me not, however, be misunderstood. Mr. Haven, it is true, 
sometimes acted on larger masses of the community and in 
more extensive relations ; but for efficient, practical useful- 
ness, few persons have done more than he did in this hum- 
ble school; and the condition and character of a great 
number of children, to whom, in the course of eight years, 
he patiently and discreetly communicated this best and most 
unostentatious of charities, will long bear a witness to the 
value of his services, which cannot be mistaken. 

Another means used by Mr. Haven to produce a beneficial 
effect on the community of which he was a member, was 
the publication of a newspaper. Between 1821 and 1825 
he edited " The Portsmouth Journal." Those who read that 
paper, at the time it was under his care, will remember, how 
sound were its general views of the questions that arose, and 
how true, moderate, and consistent its editor was in the mode 
of expressing them. If the same persons should now turn 
over its files, they would, perhaps, be surprised to find, that 
it contains so much political discussion applicable to all 
times ; that its moral tone is so high and even bold, and its 
literary taste and execution so pure ; and that the whole has 
a character so much above that of common newspapers. 
That Mr. Haven did much good by this unpretending labor, 
no one, probably, will doubt ; but the labor itself was con- 
stant and considerable, and, therefore, it is not remarkable, 



MEMOIR. 25 

that, having originally undertaken it for only four years, he 
should, at the end of that time, finding himself much pressed 
by other duties, have declined continuing it any further. 

During a part of the period, in which he edited " The Ports- 
mouth Journal," he represented his native tovv^n in the legis- 
lature of Nevi^-Hampshire, being elected both in 1823 and 
1824. The legislatures of the several states, it is true, are 
too provincial in their character, and the subjects that come 
before them are too local, to excite much permanent interest 
or furnish frequent occasions for the developement of talent. 
Mr. Haven, however, while he was in the legislature of 
New-Hampshire, became 'advantageously known, and enjoy- 
ed an extensive influence. He had a familiar acquaintance 
with political economy, and the common subjects of legisla- 
tion ; a minute knowledge of the different portions of the 
state, and their different wants and interests ; but especially 
he had great clearness and precision in his thoughts upon 
all subjects, and a great facility in labor, so that he could 
easily bring his mind to act with effect upon whatever topic 
was presented to it. As a speaker, he was distinguished, 
both here and at the bar, by exactness in his conceptions 
and statements ; an obvious and forcible order in his rea- 
soning ; and great plainness and simplicity of language and 
manner. But he possessed what gave him more influence 
than eloquence or knowledge. He possessed a genuine 
benevolence of disposition, and an entire purity of intention 
and integrity of conduct, which, above every thing else, win 
the confidence of a body of men, constituted like the best 
portions of our state legislatures. 

In the mean time, however, Mr. Haven was no less ac- 
tively employed at home, in whatever would promote general 
improvement. He took a strong interest in the Portsmouth 
Athenaeum, considering large public libraries as among the 
most immediate and pressing wants of the country, where 
3 



26 MEMOIR. 

the spirit of inquiry on important practical subjects is con- 
stantly checked, from the absence of means which are 
elsewhere provided in abundance and opened freely. He 
was, also, much occupied about the schools, both public 
and private, in Portsmouth, and labored with good effect to 
extend their influence and raise their character ; while, at 
the same time, his services and assistance were asked by 
the persons having the control of Exeter Academy, to in- 
crease the usefulness and efficiency of that ancient institu- 
tion. But, at this particular period, perhaps, it should be 
observed, that he was much interested in the management 
of an association of young men, formed for the purpose of 
literary discussion and forensic debate. This association 
was organized in 182 1 , and embraced among its members 
about sixty persons of different occupations in life, thus ex- 
tending its benefits to all classes of society capable of sharing 
in its pursuits. Its form and character were given to it 
chiefly by Mr. Haven, who was its presiding officer, with 
the exception of a short interval, from its foundation till his 
death. The members met once a fortnight, alternately or- 
ganizing themselves as a legislative body, preserving all the 
forms of public business, for the discussion of subjects of 
political and public interest ; and, as a literary body, for the 
discussion of matters of philosophical speculation, historical 
inquiry, and subjects presupposing taste and general cultiva- 
tion. It was an institution, in which Mr. Haven took a 
strong interest. As its president, it was his duty to sum up 
the arguments on each side of the discussion that had been 
held, and give his own views before it was submitted to the 
final vote. In doing this, he showed a singularly happy 
power of disincumbering the subject of unimportant or irrel- 
evant details, and presenting with such clearness and pre- 
cision the real points at issue, that the question was generally 
decided with little hesitation, at last, however perplexing 
might have been the doubts excited during its debate. 



MEMOIR. 27 

Most men, placed in his situation, would probably have 
considered all their duties to the society fulfilled by a faith- 
ful discharge of their labors in the chair. But Mr. Haven 
preferred, besides, to take upon himself the additional duties 
of common membership. In this vray, he sustained a more 
than equal part in the usual exercises of the association, 
mingling freely in its debates, and joining with particular 
preference and success in the discussion of points connected 
with political economy, public law, history, and literary crit- 
icism. That his influence on the society was valuable can- 
not be doubted, for the same high motives governed him 
here, that governed him elsewhere ; and so was the socie- 
ty's influence on him. His own social and kind feelings 
were cultivated by the intercourse it afforded him with 
those of his own age ; the intellectual pursuits, in which he 
so much delighted, were promoted in others, who, but for 
this institution, might not have shared their benefits ; an el- 
evated moral feeling and a deep respect for religion were 
impressed on the thoughtlessness of youth, by the turn he 
often or generally gave the discussions ; and, in more than 
one instance, he enjoyed the satisfaction of drawing forth 
talent and cherishing its developement, where its existence 
was hardly suspected even by its possessor. In this associa- 
tion, indeed, he was doing, in some measure, for the young 
men, with whom it connected him, what he was doing else- 
where for the children; and it was undoubtedly a great 
source of happiness to him, that he had an opportunity, thus 
to fulfil one of the most important duties, that any man is 
permitted to perform to society. 

While Mr. Haven was busily occupied in these interest- 
ing pursuits, the spring of 1823 completed the second cen- 
tury from the first landing of the merchant-adventurers, who 
founded the little colony on the Piscataqua, which has since 
become the state of New-Hampshire ; and a general wish 



28 MEMOIR. 

was expressed, that the recollections this anniversary was so 
well calculated to awaken, should be renewed and strength- 
ened in the minds of men, by some public and solemn com- 
memoration. Following a no less general indication of the 
public feeling, the Historical Society of New-Hampshire 
desired Mr. Haven to deliver an address in Portsmouth on 
the twenty-first of May. He did so. The town was throng- 
ed with visiters from different parts of the state, who, with 
many distinguished individuals from Massachusetts and 
Maine, were drawn thither by so happy an occasion for the 
interchange of good will and friendly congratulations. Mr. 
Haven fully satisfied the expectation, which had waited on 
this fortunate anniversary. He discussed, with a simple and 
persuasive eloquence, the characters of the founders of that 
ancient colony, as Englishmen, as merchant-adventurers, 
and as Puritans ; and showed what effects the elements of 
society, they brought with them, had already produced, and 
what effects they ought still further to produce, as the des- 
tinies of the country shall be further unfolded. He was 
listened to with a proud regard by the community, at whose 
intimation he spoke, and with flattering interest by the stran- 
gers, who had come to join in the general jubilee ; and the 
impression he left that day on the minds of men, was one 
which his native state may always be proud to cherish. 

The last two years of Mr. Haven's life were passed, like 
those that had preceded them, in active and happy useful- 
ness. Perhaps he retired more than he had before done 
from the mechanical labors of his profession, still seeking 
higher studies and pursuits, and looking round for wider 
means of active exertion. This might, indeed, have been 
expected from the whole course and tendency of his mind 
and character, and from an increased consciousness of his 
own powers, which had every year been more developed 
by a wise and benevolent use of them. But still, though 



MEMOIR. 



29 



his horizon was constantly growing wider and wider, as he 
rose, he neither forgot nor neglected the humbler duties and 
occupations, which had so long constituted much of his hap- 
piness, and by which his character had, in no small degree, 
been formed for the higher success, to which he now seem- 
ed surely destined. 

But in the midst of the confident expectations of his 
friends and of the community, he was suddenly taken from 
them. Being in New- York, in May, 1826, on business, he 
heard of the sickness of his children. He hastened instantly 
back, and reached Portsmouth on Wednesday the twenty- 
fourth, having been less than two days on the way. He 
found four of his children ill with an epidemical complaint 
in the throat. Perhaps he himself had left home with a ten- 
dency to the same disease from the same causes that had 
brought it into his family. At any rate, on the Saturday 
after his return, he was seized with it. The attack was vio- 
lent, and never, for a moment, yielded to the most active 
medicines, which, in the conflict, seemed to lose their ac- 
customed power. From the nature of the disease, his reason 
was early affected by it. Of this he was conscious, and made 
the greater effort to collect and compose his thoughts. At 
first, he succeeded, and spoke of the objects that had most 
interested him in life, and of the hopes and principles that 
had governed him, with the unwavering confidence he had 
felt, when his health seemed the strongest and most sure. 
Even when his mind wandered, religious feelings, attach- 
ment to his friends, and the desire of doing good still main- 
tained their accustomed ascendency. But it was soon ap- 
parent, that the conflict could not be long continued, and, 
shortly afterwards, his reason failed altogether. His friends 
saw, that his separation from them was near ; and those, who 
were connected with him through his public services, learn- 
ed, that they were to lose a supporter, who had long been 
3* 



30 



MEMOIR. 



foremost in whatever concerned the common improvement. 
The expression of anxiety and sympathy, throughout the 
community, was remarkable. The very children, as they 
passed his house, stepped lightly and were hushed from 
their sports ; and men, in the resorts of business, spoke anx- 
iously to each other, when they talked of their coming loss. 
He died, on the third of June, after an illness of eight days; 
and when he was buried, on the following Tuesday, the 
principal stores and shops in the town were shut ; — a testi- 
mony of public sorrow, which has hardly been given to any 
one among us, who died so young, or to any one, who had 
borne so small a part in those affairs of the times, which 
most agitate men's personal interests and passions. 

And what was it, that made Mr. Haven's death such a loss, 
not to his friends only, but to an extensive community ? For 
his personal appearance and address were neither uncom- 
monly striking, nor uncommonly prepossessing. His talents 
could hardly be called brilliant, and certainly were not 
showy. He had less than almost any man, of that love of 
popularity and distinction, which so often obtains, because it 
solicits, general favor and regard. And he died young, at 
the early age of thirty-six, when most men have but just be- 
gun to render those services to society, which secure public 
confidence and gratitude. How was it, then, under these 
circumstances, that Mr. Haven had gathered around him so 
many friends, made himself the centre of so many differing 
interests, and come to fill so large a space in whatever con- 
cerns the general welfare, that his death brought with it a 
sense of bereavement, which was felt through all classes of 
society ? It was, because he possessed originally fine powers 
of mind, which, under a strong and prevalent sense of re- 
ligious responsibility, and by constant and faithful exercise, 
had been so unfolded and enlarged, that, as he was more 
widely known, the hopes and confidence of men resorted to 



MEMOIR. 31 

him more and more, until they had come to feel, that he was 
already important to the best interests of the society, with 
which he was connected ; while, at the same time, they look- 
ed forward to his growing influence and resources, as to a 
possession, which would certainly be used for their own ben- 
efit and that of their children. For it was deeply felt, that 
Mr. Haven had devoted his life to the best and highest in- 
terests of society, and had shown, even in youth, that he 
could contribute much to their advancement. To this end, 
it was obvious, all his relations in life had gradually tended, 
and all his efforts had become directed. At home, in the 
quiet and confiding circle of his domestic happiness, the 
principle of duty and the desire of improvement, though 
neither ostentatious nor burthensome, had still been percep- 
tible above all others. In his intercourse with numerous 
family connexions, and still more numerus personal friends, 
the same influence had always surrounded him, and his re- 
ligious character especially had wrought with the silent force 
of example, most eflfecUially when least obtrusive ; while, in 
the management of professional business, in the discussion 
of public interests, and in the use of means for promoting 
the progress of society, his motives had always been open 
and respected, and the power of the community had been 
freely lent to him ; because all, with whom he had been as- 
sociated, felt, that he would use it only for the general wel- 
fare. Every year, therefore, as it passed by, had been 
adding to his influence and consideration, until, at last, his 
talents, not one of which had been suffered to rust in him 
unused, had, by their wise and benevolent employment, be- 
come so balanced, and the different powers of his character 
had become so harmoniously adjusted to each other, that men 
felt a sober and settled confidence in him, which they do not 
often feel even for the genius they most admire, or the en- 
thusiasm by which they are most willingly persuaded. His 



32 MEMOIR. 

death, therefore, was, indeed, a great loss, and was deeply 
and widely felt. He was mourned for by the community, 
as men mourn over their personal losses and sorrows ; and 
the crowd of those whose best interests he had so devotedly 
served, felt, as they turned back from his grave, that they 
should long look anxiously round, before they could find 
one to fill the place he had left vacant ; and still longer be- 
fore they could find one, who would accomplish the yet 
greater hopes they had trusted to him for the future, with a 
fond and undoubting confidence. 



ORATIONS. 



ORATION 

DELIVERED AT PORTSMOUTH, MAY 21, 1823, TWO HUNDRED YEARS 
FROM THE LANDING OF THE FIRST SETTLERS. 



Two hundred years ago, the place on which we stand 
was an uncultivated forest. The rough and vigorous soil 
was still covered with the stately trees, which had been, 
for ages, intermingling their branches and deepening the 
shade. The river, v^^hich now bears on its bright and 
pure waters the treasures of distant climates, and whose 
rapid current is stemmed and vexed by the arts and en- 
terprise of man, then only rippled against the rocks, and 
reflected back the wild and grotesque thickets which 
overhung its banks. The mountain, which now swells 
on our left and raises its verdant side " shade above 
shade," was then almost concealed by the lofty growth 
which covered the intervening plains. Behind us, a deep 
morass, extending across to the northern creek, almost 
enclosed the little " Bank," which is now the seat of so 
much life and industry. It was then a wild and tangled 
thicket, interspersed with venerable trees and moss-grown 
rocks, and presenting, here and there, a sunny space 
covered with the blossoms and early fruit of the litde 



36 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

plant, that gave it its name. This *' Bank " so wild and 
rude, two hundred years ago, was first impressed with 
the step of civilized man. 

The influence of local association is strong and univer- 
sal. There is no one who has not felt it ; and if it were 
possible, it would be useless, to withdraw the mind from 
its effects. We owe many of our deepest emotions, our 
highest and most ennobling feelings, to the suggestions of 
external nature. The place, which has been distinguish- 
ed by the residence of one whom we love and admire, 
kindles in our minds a thousand conceptions which we 
can scarcely analyse or describe. The moral beauty of 
character and sentiment is insensibly blended with the 
beauty of natural scenery ; memory and fancy, alike ex- 
cited, pass from one object to another, and form combi- 
nations of beauty and grandeur, softened and shaded by 
time and distance, but having enough of life and fresh- 
ness to awaken our feelings and hold undisputed dominion 
of our hearts. Here, then, let us indulge our emotions. 
On this spot our Forefathers trod. Here their energy 
and perseverance, their calm self-possession and practical 
vigor, were first called into action. Here they met and 
overcame difficulties, which would have overpowered the 
imagination, or subdued the fortitude of ordinary men. 
All that we see around us are memorials of their worth- 
It was their enterprise that opened a path for us over the 
waters. It was their energy that subdued the forest. 
They founded our institutions. They communicated to 
us our love of freedom. They gave us the impulse that 
made us what we are. It cannot then be useless to live 
along the generations that have passed, and endeavour 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 37 

to identify ourselves with those who have gone before us. 
TVho and what were they, who thus fill our imaginations, 
and as they rise before us, bring to our minds so many 
recollections of high sentiment, and steady fortitude, and 
sober enthusiasm ? In what school were they formed ? 
and what favorable circumstances impressed upon them 
that character of enduring energy, which even their pre- 
sent descendants may claim as their best inheritance ? 
The answer to these questions is the subject to which 
your attention will be directed. 

The character of individuals is always influenced, in a 
greater or less degree, by that of the nation in which 
they live. Sometimes, indeed, a great genius appears, 
who seems not to belong either to his age, or country ; 
as a sunny day in winter will sometimes swell the buds 
and call forth the early flowers, as if it belonged to a 
milder season, or happier climate. But in general, to 
form an accurate opinion of the character of an individual, 
it becomes necessary to estimate that of his nation, at the 
time in which he lived. Our ancestors were English- 
men ; were Merchant-adventurers ; were Puritans. The 
elements of their character are therefore to be found in 
the national character of England, modified in the indi- 
viduals by the pursuits of commerce, and the profession 
of an austere but ennobling form of religion. 

At the time of the first settlement of this country, the 
government of England was very nearly an absolute mon- 
archy. Though the form of a Parliament existed, it 
possessed but little power or influence ; and its effect 
upon the public administration was scarcely perceptible. 
The great mass of the people, indeed, considered mon- 
4 



38 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

archy, simple and unmixed, as their established govern- 
ment. But notwithstanding this theoretical despotism, 
and even frequent instances of practical tyranny, there 
were, at that time, circumstances in the situation of Eng- 
land that distinguished her favorably from other countries. 
The long and pacific reign of James the First had in- 
creased the wealth of the nation. The numerous gentry, 
finding no employment in war, and little allurement at 
court, which was neither splendid nor gay, were scattered 
through the country, where they at once improved their 
fortunes and nourished a sense of personal independence. 
The mere want of excitement was beginning at this time 
to turn their attention towards Parliament ; where they 
soon proved themselves to be formidable opposers of the 
crown. It was only two years before the foundation of 
this colony, that the English House of Commons first 
asserted their right to freedom of speech. But though 
England presented externally the same appearance of re- 
gal supremacy with the neighbouring states, there were 
causes even then at work, which were destined to limit 
and even subdue the royal power. 

Among nations, in any degree civilized, resistance to 
established authority rarely takes place, without being 
provoked by some unusual acts of oppression. There is 
a natural love among mankind for the institutions of their 
fathers ; and men become attached even to a despotic 
government under which they were born, as they learn 
for the same reason to love even a barren soil, and an 
inclement sky. Happily for us, in the reigns of Eliza- 
beth and James, the oppressive acts of the government 
were both numerous and unusual. They were sufficient 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 39 

to arouse the attention, without subduing the courage of 
the people. 

The warlii^e spirit, which had been nurtured by so 
many ages of civil dissension, still lingered in the hearts 
of Englishmen. They were still active, brave, and en- 
terprising. The religious persecutions in France and the 
Low Countries had filled England with little colonies of 
industrious and intelligent men, who had abandoned eve- 
ry thing for liberty of conscience ; and who brought v. ith 
them and diffused around them their arts and enterprise, 
their love of liberty and religious zeal. These men were 
the precursors of the Pyms, Hampdens, and Vanes of 
the succeeding generation. Their example and influ- 
ence added much to the spirit of independence that was 
beginning to pervade the middle orders of tlie people. 
The grand struggle against arbitrary power, which was 
made in the reign of Charles the First, and which brought 
that ill-fated monarch to the block, can be distinctly 
traced back through the reigns of James and Elizabeth 
to the dawnings of the reformation under Henry the 
Eighth. Like our own revolution, that struggle w^as not 
an insulated event, not a sudden explosion of passion or 
caprice, but a necessary consequence of the progress of 
human improvement. In 1623, the English character 
had already received the impulse which has carried it 
forward against so many opposing obstacles. The hu- 
man mind " was putting forth its energies, exalted by a 
pure religion, and enlarged by new views of truth." It 
was an age of excitement and adventure. There was in 
the character of the people a mixture of romantic fancy 
and practical heroism, that, when excited by the religious 



40 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

controversies of the times, rendered them capable of 
every thing that was great and daring in action or suffer- 
ing. Notwithstanding the vices of the government, it was, 
in 1623, a proud distinction to be an Englishman. It 
was from this people, that our ancestors came. The 
scion was cut from the tree, not indeed at its full maturi- 
ty covered with leaves and fruit, but at a far more fa- 
vorable season, when the bark was green, and the buds 
swelling, and the energies of nature working at the root. 
The first settlement at Piscataquack differs from that of 
the neighbouring colonies of Plymouth and the Massa- 
chusetts, in the commercial spirit in which it was under- 
taken. Winslow, Carver, and Bradford, and those oth- 
er worthies of the Old Colony, whose names should 
stand higher on the rolls of fame than the founders of the 
Grecian Republics, came to this wilderness merely to 
enjoy liberty of conscience. They were, many of them, 
men of fortune and letters, who sought in this new world 
only an assylum for their persecuted church. Our an- 
cestors were of humbler rank ; and yet perhaps no less 
worthy of commemoration. They were generally of the 
class, denominated in the reign of Elizabeth, Merchant- 
adventurers ; that is, men who traded in foreign coun- 
tries upon capital furnished them by merchants at home. 
They were, of course, the most active and intelligent and 
enterprising of the commercial class. They united in 
their habits the hardihood and daring spirit of the mari- 
ner, with the keen sagacity and practised skill of the 
merchant. It is not necessary for me to describe the 
character formed by commercial pursuits. It is general- 
ly a liberal one. It is scarcely possible to be engaged 



CENTENNJAL ORATION. 41 

in foreign trade, without learning something of the man- 
ners, and habits, and laws of other nations, and thus 
wearing off some of the petty prejudices and illiberal 
opinions that cling to all, whose horizon is bounded by 
the little spot they inhabit. It is apparent that the first 
settlers of New-Hampshire partook largely of the spirit of 
the class to which they belonged. Gibbins was a man of 
large views, and strong practical sense ; while Hilton, 
Wiggin, and Chadbourne displayed that unceasing indus- 
try, dexterity, and quickness of resource, which are 
among the most prominent traits of the commercial 
character. 

And here permit me to dwell for a moment on the char- 
acter and conduct of one, whose name for many years 
was peculiarly obnoxious to the inhabitants of this state. 
I mean John Mason, the original proprietor. He was, 
at first, a merchant ; but he afterward engaged in the na- 
val service of his country, in which he acquired distinc- 
tion ; for on the peace with Spain in 1604, he was reward- 
ed with the government of Newfoundland, and on his 
return to England was made governor of Portsmouth, 
inN^w-Hampshire. Possessing a vigorous mind, and im- 
bued deeply with the spirit of romantic adventure, so 
common in that age, he was scarcely admitted a mem- 
ber of ^' the Council of Plymouth for the planting, ruling, 
and governing of New-England," before he embarked 
his whole fortune in the cause. In the various grants, 
from the council, of lands about the Piscataqua, which 
he and his associates received, it was plainly the under- 
standing of all parties that the soil was conveyed. When 
therefore he had expended upon this settlement at least 
4* 



42 CENTENNIAL ORATIdN. 

ten thousand pounds, in vessels and provisions, in articles 
of merchandise and instruments of husbandry, it was not 
unreasonable that he should look foF some return ; nor 
unnatural that he should regard all the occupants of the 
soil as his tenants. He resided in England, where the 
feudal notions of the permanent nature of property in 
land, still existed in all their vigor. And as wages had 
been paid to the first colonists, he naturally regarded 
them as agents employed in the improvement of his es- 
tate. But the colonists soon began to persuade them- 
selves that their labors and sufferings in the settlement of 
the country, gave them a right to the soil they occupied ; 
and this opinion was fortified and confirmed by the state 
of property in the neighbouring colonies of Massachusetts 
and Plymouth. When, therefore, rent was demanded of 
ihem, for lands which they had reclaimed from a state of 
nature, and measures were taken to eject them from their 
dwellings to enforce its payment, all their passions were 
awakened,~they resisted to a man, — they combined to- 
gether, — and by continual struggles, at length succeeded 
in confirming their own title. No occurrence in the 
whole history of the colony, from its first establishment 
to the commencement of the revolution, so deeply affect- 
ed and agitated the minds of the people. It was, in 
their apprehension, a struggle not only for property, but 
for liberty. And whatever opinion may now be enter- 
tained of the means employed to ensure success, we can- 
not but rejoice that the colonists gained the victory, — 
that they made themselves and their posterity lords of the 
soil, instead of remaining the tenants of a distant propri- 
etor. Yet, now that the contest is over, now that passion 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 43 

and feeling have subsided, if we examine the question 
impartially, we shall find that, like most other controver- 
sies, there is an appearance of equity on both sides. Ma- 
son was, undoubtedly, a benefactor to the colony. It 
owes to him its first establishment 5 and it is indebted to 
him for the first materials of that commerce, which has 
ever since been among the principal causes of its pros- 
perity. In fine, in reviewing his whole conduct towards 
the colony, and judging of his pretensions by the law of 
England as then established, he was a man " more sin- 
ned against than sinning." 

But though the views of the first settlers of this colony 
were merely commercial, they were most of them Puri- 
tans. The first churches they organized, with the ex- 
ception possibly of the little chapel for Gibson on Straw- 
berry Bank, were on the Puritan model; and even 
before the union with Massachusetts in 1641, the settle- 
ments upon this river were assuming the form of religious 
colonies. This is particularly true of Dover ; some of 
the first setders of which are described as " men of some 
account in religion ; " and whose first minister, William 
Leverich, was distinguished among the Puritan churches 
before his removal to this country. Of these Puritans, 
as they existed in England, from their first separation in 
1566, I find It difficult to speak in adequate language. 
That they w^ere men of profound learning, of unblemish- 
ed morals, of heart-felt piety ; — that they possessed a 
knowledge of the Scriptures that has never been surpass- 
ed, and that they understood In a wonderful degree its 
practical application to all the workings of the human 
heart and the varied incidents of human life, will scarcely 



44 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

be denied. I readily admit, that with this knowledge of 
religion there were mingled many strange and enthusias- 
tic opinions ; that their ardor for religious truth was often 
inflamed into a fierce and intolerant zeal ; that their love 
of freedom, in its wild and impetuous course, often swept 
away all form, and precedent, and law. Yet, with all 
their faults and errors, and they were full of them, the 
whole history of the world cannot present a body of men 
to be compared with the English Puritans. Religion, 
always a principle of energy, was with them the spring 
of every action. Hence there was no coldness, no fee- 
bleness in their characters. Accustomed to " thoughts 
that wander through eternity," they had a lofty contempt 
of the common pursuits and motives of human life, which 
though it sometimes became a morbid exaltation of char- 
acter and feeling, yet led them to make continually, 
without effort, and almost without consciousness, the most 
heroic sacrifices. Where any principle of religion was 
concerned, or any practice was in question that raised the 
slightest scruple of conscience, they disdained alike life 
and death, and trampled in their scorn upon every thing 
of power, or wealth, or glory, that the world could offer. 
It has been said with truth, that '• none can aspire to act 
greatly, but those who are of iorce greatly to suffer." 
The English Puritans did suffer much ; and they suffered 
greatly. In all their trials, there was a calm self-posses- 
sion, a moral grandeur, a sustained energy. In their 
stern contempt of danger and suffering, there was no re- 
lenting weakness. They endured pain, because they des- 
pised it. 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 45 

It has been usual to treat with ridicule the immediate 
cause of their separation from the church of England. It 
has been said, that they were weak men to ascribe so 
much importance to trifles ; that they were obstinate men 
to contend so earnestly about things indifferent in them- 
selves. But it was the principle, for which they strug- 
gled. They have the same merit with Hampden, who 
resisted the petty imposition of ship-money ; — the same 
with the patriots of our revolution, who refused to sub- 
mit to a paltry tax upon tea. Had not Hooper, Hum- 
phreys, and Sampson persevered in refusing the papal 
garments, even when urged upon them by the whole 
power of the civil government ; — had they not resisted, 
at the outset, the first encroachments of ecclesiastical 
tyranny, it is probable the Reformation would never have 
been established in England. Neither Henry the Eighth, 
nor Elizabeth, intended any reformation from the corrup- 
tions of Popery. They felt the inconvenience of a for- 
eign ecclesiastial tribunal, and they coveted the wealth 
and patronage of the church. But the only reformation 
they intended, was to make the sovereign of England the 
supreme pontiff, instead of the bishop of Rome. The 
Puritans therefore were the real reformers of England ; 
and it is to their salutary influence that the church of 
England is indebted for her present Protestant character. 
She has gradually reformed in her liturgy and discipline 
almost every thing that was objected to by the early 
Puritans. 

But it is to their political character, that I wish chiefly 
to call your attention. It is charged upon the Puritans 
by a modern English writer, " that they were essentially, 



46 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 



^ 



and at heart, republicans ; " and this charge we glory in 
confessing. They were republicans, and this spirit may 
be traced back to the reformation itself. I do not use 
language too strong, when I affirm, that all of civil liberty 
that is now to be found in the world, is to be ascribed to 
the impulse given to the human mind by the reformation 
of Luther. The grand principle of the reformation was 
the right of private judgment in matters of religion. This 
right the first reformers always claimed for themselves, 
how much soever they might, in the imperfection of their 
views, deny it to others. Religion is naturally and ne- 
cessarily the most interesting subject of human thought. 
It embraces in its wide extent the whole circle of moral 
duties. It regards us in all our social relations, and is 
connected with all the cares and business of common life. 
But it stops not here. It carries us forward to that dark 
and shadowy futurity, which the mind of man has, in every 
age, been anxious to explore, but which it has always shud- 
dered to enter. It bears us upward through the suns and 
systems of this material world to the throne of that Be- 
ing, in whose presence all the disdnctions of human life 
are destroyed, at whose glance the world itself " fleeth 
away as a shadow." There, the mind feels itself alone. 
It is overwhelmed by a sense of its personal accountable- 
ness. It gains no support, it acquires no confidence, 
from the opinions, or usages, or authority of its i'ellow- 
mortals. It must act for itself. It feels that its destiny 
through the interminable ages of its duration, and in the 
unseen worlds through which it may be carried in the 
progress of its existence, is far too important to be in- 
trusted to others. When the mind descends from these 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 47 

sublime contemplations, and returns to the ordinary du- 
ties of life, it bears with it still the impression of its re- 
cent employment. It retains something of its purity, and 
elevation, and self-respect. Having just disclaimed hu- 
man authority in its most important concerns, it is not 
prepared to yield implicit obedience to the caprices of 
human power in the common affairs of life. He who, in 
contemplating the Supreme Being, has just felt that crowns 
and sceptres are vain and transitory honors, that personal 
merit makes the only real distinction, is not prepared for 
slavish submission to a human monarch, or to cower and 
tremble at a human frown. The spirit of Protestant 
Christianity is therefore essentially a free spirit. 

Do you ask for a further illustration of this principle ? 
Go then to the bigoted and enslaved Spaniard. Teach 
him that the Bible is the only standard of Christian faith. 
Show him the chains, which the artifices of a corrupt and 
ambitious priesthood have prepared for his understanding. 
Remove the rubbish of creeds, and confessions, and es- 
tablished forms. Convince him that he is answerable 
only to God for his religious faith, and that his opinions 
on this important subject must be formed under a sense 
of personal accountableness ; and when you have thus 
enlightened him, when he has rescued himself from the 
iron grasp of an unrelenting superstition, when he has 
turned his back upon the altar of his past idolatry, think 
you he is advancing to crouch before a throne ? Oh no ! 
The spirit of religious freedom which led him to examine 
the foundations of his faith, has taught him also to in- 
quire into his civil rights. When once he has shaken off 
the influence of authority in matters of religion, he holds 



48 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

in little esteem the antiquated usages and venerable 
errors of civil government. 

I would not be understood to mean, that in the case of 
individuals, religious freedom must necessarily precede 
the acquisition or the love of civil liberty. But in fact 
it has generally preceded it in the progress of nations. 
The chains of superstition are the strongest that tyranny 
can forge ; and when they are shaken off, the mind re- 
gains its vigor, — it stands erect and independent. Even 
Hume, who in the cause of the Puritans was no partial 
friend, is constrained to admit, " that whatever spark of 
liberty we have remaining to us, is owing to the Puritans 
alone." In the cruel and capricious reign of Henry the 
Eighth, it was Tyndal, and Coverdale, and Rogers, some 
of whose descendants are even now present, and whose 
hearts should leap with exultation at the worth of their 
ancestors, — it was they, who were the champions of free- 
dom, as well as the martyrs of religion. In the reign of 
Elizabeth, so undeservedly praised by the majority of 
English historians, it was Penry, Barrow, and Green- 
wood, who, in asserting the right of dissent from the estab- 
lished church, contended for those principles of civil lib- 
erty, which we now claim as our birth-right. 

Such, then, were the men from whom we derive our 
origin ; and such were the circumstances which impress- 
ed upon them that peculiar character, which, it is hoped, 
the lapse of two centuries has not yet obliterated. We 
may justly be proud of such a descent ; for no ancestry 
in the world is half so illustrious, as the Puritan founders 
of New-England. It is not merely that they were good 
men, and religious men, exhibiting in their lives an ex- 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 49 

ample of purity and temperance, and active virtue, such 
as no other community in the world could present ; but 
they possessed the dazzling qualities of human greatness. 
Do we love to dwell upon scenes of romantic adventure ? 
Does our imagination kindle at the thought of distant en- 
terprise, among a strange people, exposed to constant 
and unusual peril ? Do we turn with delight to those bold 
and heroic achievements which call forth the energy of 
our nature, and by that deep excitement which belongs 
to the hopes and hazards of war, awaken us to a new 
consciousness of existence ? All this is found in the his- 
tory of our ancestors. They were heroes, as well as 
Pilgrims, and nothing is wanting but the pen of genius to 
make their prowess and adventures the theme of a 
world's admiration. 

But here was the scene of their earthly toils. This 
spot was consecrated by their labors and sufferings. 
Perhaps their spirits still linger among us. Perhaps they 
are here, conscious beings, ministering to our progress, 
and rejoicing in our gladness. Could they now be made 
visible to mortal eye, and stand among us ; engaged with 
us in reviewing the past, and tracing along the progress of 
time and events to the present hour, how would they de- 
scribe our present condition and character ? With what 
wonder would they speak of the progress of improve- 
ment ! Even those Merchant-adventurers, who two hun- 
dred years ago came from London, just then beginning to 
assume its rank as the commercial capital of the world, 
would speak with surprise and delight of those glorious 
monuments of human art — those lofty ships, which almost 
every breeze wafts to our river ; but to what admiration 
5 



50 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

would their feelings be exalted in viewing those stupen- 
dous vessels, which are designed to carry our nation's 
strength to the remotest seas, and which impress England 
herself, in the pride of her naval glory, with respect for 
our power and skill. If they passed up the river to the 
fertile spot which Hilton and Waldron selected for their 
setdement, and inquired if the descendants of those West- 
Country adventurers retained the knowledge of arts and 
manufactures which their ancestors must have learned in 
England, could their astonishment be expressed in wit- 
nessing the triumph of human ingenuity and the wonders 
of mechanical skill, which would there be shown them ? 
When they cast their eyes over the country, which, even 
at their deaths, they left rough and unsubdued, scarcely 
yielding to them a scanty subsistence, and beheld the 
picture of human comfort and human happiness which it 
eYQYY where presents, would they confess that their 
brightest anticipations of the fortune of their descendants 
exceeded the reality ? But they would inquire of our 
character, of our moral and intellectual improvement. 
They would ask if our progress had been equal to our 
advantages ? And here, though we might dwell with just 
pride upon many circumstances in our character as a 
people, there are others which we should wish, if possible, 
to conceal from their view. We could speak with con- 
fidence of the liberality of our institutions, of our free- 
dom from the superstitions and prejudices of former ages. 
We could in enterprise, and hardihood, and manliness of 
spirit, claim to be the equals of our fathers. We could 
point to our public schools, as a noble monument of pub- 
lic spirit and hberality. We could present our college 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 51 

and our numerous academies to their scrutiny, and fear- 
lessly challenge their approbation. We could produce 
examples of literary and professional exertion, which 
would prove that we had not faltered in intellectual im- 
provement, behind the progress of the age. But if they 
questioned us of our Puritan habits, of our temperance, 
of our zeal to avail ourselves of the advantages of educa- 
tion, w^e should be obliged reluctantly to confess that our 
virtues had not equalled the virtues of our fathers. 

Yet with all her faults, — and I would neither extenuate 
nor deny them, — we may rejoice, that we are natives of 
New-Hampshire. I would not yield precedence for my 
native State, in all that constitutes the worth of political 
associations, to the proudest realm that ever advanced its 
pretensions in the great community of nations. Nay 
more, I would not yield precedence for New-Hampshire, 
in enterprise and manly virtue, in love of liberty, in tal- 
ents, in the wisdom and liberality of her institutions, in 
every thing that constitutes the peculiar excellence of the 
American character, to the most exalted of her sister 
states. Let me not be thought arrogant in assuming 
firmly this ground. While we yield precedence to none, 
we claim it from none. The very character of our soil 
and climate must make our people hardy, athletic, and 
brave. It is a country of labor ; of constant, unceasing 
exertion. The bounties of nature are indeed scattered 
around us with a liberal hand ; but they are offered only 
to labor. Hence the very necessities of our situaUon 
impress us with a character of mental energy. From the 
first occupation of the country to the present time, we 
have had an unbroken succession of resolute and un- 



52 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

daunted meriy devoted to their country, proud of their 
privileges, and zealous in their defence. The zeal which 
animated Waldron, Pickering, and Vaughan in their 
contests with Mason, continued long after to glow in the 
hearts of Weave, Bartlett, Langdon, and Gilman, when 
exerted in a nobler cause. The chivalrous spirit and 
martial gallantry, which made Lovewell and Bickford so 
formidable to the Indians, burned with new vigor in Cil- 
ley, JW Clary, and Scammel ; in Reid and Poor; in 
Sullivan and Stark. The devotion to the interests of the 
province, which distinguished Wentworth and Sherburne, 
PenhaUow and Rindge, has been found ia thousands of 
others, who, like them, were ready to devote their time 
and labor to the service of the state. In the pursuits of 
science and professional skill, New-Hampshire has at 
least kept on the level of the age. We still hear of the 
classical erudition of Parker, the judicial knowledge of 
Pickering, the finished eloquence of West. Jackson, 
and Bracket, and Cutter were familiar with the whole of 
medical science, as it existed in their times ; and in the 
pulpit a long line of pious, and learned, and eloquent 
men from Moody to Buckminstcr, have at once enforced 
the doctrines and illustrated the spirit of Christianity. 
The venerated name, which I have last pronounced, can 
scarcely be uttered from this place without exciting deep 
emotion ; and it is connected with another, that at once 
calls to our remembrance all that is delicate and refined 
in taste, that is graceful and engaging in manners, that is 
generous and elevated in sentiment. When we have 
named him, we have no apprehension for our literary 
fame.. 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 53 

If it were still necessary to assert our just claims to dis- 
tinction, we could point to living examples of merit, which 
would at once produce conviction. The sons of New- 
Hampshire are scattered through every state of the Un- 
ion. They are found in the judicial tribunals, the litera- 
ry institutions, the halls of legislation, the military and na- 
val establishments of our country ; and in all these vari- 
ous situations, we can safely hold them up to public view, 
and with honest pride claim them for our own. 

I have already alluded to the force of local associa- 
tion ; and I would again advert to it in considering the 
ties which ought to bind us to our native land. Other 
countries may possess a richer soil, and a gentler sky ; 
but where shall we find the rude magnificence of nature 
so blended with scenes of enchanting beauty as among 
our mountains and lakes ? Believe me, it is because 
our country is yet unexplored, that her scenes of beauty 
and grandeur, her bright waters and swelling hills, her 
rich pasturage of living green, mingled with fresh flowers 
and skirted with deep and shady forests ; her fields teem- 
ing with life and vegetation ; her mountains rising into 
the dark blue sky, and blending their summits with the 
purple clouds ; her streams rushing from the hill-side, 
and hastening to mingle with the sea, or lingering in the 
solitude of her valleys, and sparkling in the glorious sun- 
shine ; — it is because these are unexplored, that they are 
unsung. The time is not far distant, when the poet 
will kindle into rapture, and the painter glow with emo- 
tion, in delineating our romantic scenery. 

But it is our moral associations that must bind us for 
ever to the land of our fathers. It is a land of equal 
6* 



54 CENTENNIAL ORATION. 

rights ; its soil is not polluted by a slave. It is aland of 
religious freedom ; no hierarchy can here exalt its head, 
no pontiff can hurl his thunders over a trembling and 
prostrate multitude. It is a land of industry and toil ; 
affording in this a constant pledge of the manly virtues. 
It is a land of knowledge and progressive improvement. 
In no part of the world, is so liberal a provision made by 
law for public instruction. It is a land whose inhabitants 
have already fulfilled the high duties to which they have 
been called. Other nations have gathered more laurels 
in the field of blood ; other nations have twined more 
garlands and sung louder praise for their poets and ora- 
tors and philosophers ; but where has romantic courage 
and adventurous skill been more strikingly exhibited ? 
Where has practical wisdom been better displayed ? In 
the hour of danger, her sons have been foremost in the 
batde. In every^ contest for the rights of mankind, her 
voice has always been raised on the side of freedom. 
And now that she stands possessed of every thing which 
civil and political liberty can bestow, she is vigilant and 
jealous for the preservation of her rights, and is among 
the first to resist encroachment. 

But we are connected with the future, as well as with 
the past. We are but a link in the vast chain of being, 
which is to bind our remotest descendants with our ear- 
liest ancestors ; and it is one of the advantages of a cele- 
bration like this, that it reminds us of our duties,^ as well 
as our privileges. A new century is opening upon us 
which none of us will live to complete. Our children are 
about to take our places. When another century has 
passed away, the events of this day will be the subject 



CENTENNIAL ORATION. 55 

of historical research. Our character and conduct will 
then be examined. It will be asked, what loe did to per- 
petuate the blessings we received ; what exertions ive 
made to enlighten, and purify, and bless mankind ; what 
measures ive devised to secure at once the rights of the 
people, and the stability and dignity of the government ; 
what zeal we displayed for our religious institutions ; what 
sacrifices we made in the cause of human virtue and hu- 
man happiness. We are Hving, even the humblest of us, 
not for ourselves only ; but for society, for posterity, for 
the human race. Whatever we can do for ourselves, or 
for them, becomes at once our imperious duty to do. 
There is no escape from the obligation. There should 
be no delay in the performance, — no hesitation. These 
questions will be asked. The answer is yet in our own 
power. 



ADDRESS 



JEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY AT DARTMOUTH COLLEGE, 
DELIVERED AUGUST 18, 1816. 



It is with much diffidence, gentlemen, that I venture 
to appear before you. A stranger to most of those, whom 
I have the honor to address, I should shrink from the 
duty imposed on me, if I were not convinced that the 
same kindness, which called me here, would listen to me 
with indulgence. But I can hardly appeal in vain to your 
candor; for I am persuaded it wih be extended to every 
exertion in the cause of sound learning, however feeble 
or unsuccessful the attempt. 

We are assembled to express our regard to the cause 
of letters ; to acknowledge ourselves united by a similar- 
ity of taste and pursuits ; and to revive, at this seat of 
learning, that generous ardor for intellectual improvement, 
which is too often repressed by the cares and contentions 
of active life. It is delightful to renew, in the place 
which gave them birth, the bright and fleeting visions of 
youthful expectation. It was here you first drank at the 
wells of science ; here were your first breathings after 
fame ; and here your firmest friendships commenced. 



ORATION BEFORE THE *. B. K. 57 

You have since gone forth into the world, and, it may be, 
have found it cold and selfish. Your merit, perhaps, has 
been overlooked by some, and assailed by others ; — your 
learning despised by the ignorant, and neglected by those 
who were able to appreciate its value. You have found 
all engaged in the pursuit of wealth, or the contests of 
ambition ; and you have been ready to believe there 
was no place for letters, amidst the vulgar and gross em- 
ployments of common life. You have perhaps revolted 
with fastidious delicacy, from the necessary duties of 
men and citizens ; and have been tempted to look with 
envy upon the tranquil retreats of learning in other coun- 
tries ; or, it may be, you have relinquished with a sigh 
all connexion v^ith elegant literature, and have suffered 
yourselves to be borne along by the steady current of 
business. It may therefore be useful to contemplate the 
actual situation of society around us, and see if it impos- 
es any peculiar discouragement, or affords any distin- 
guished advantages for the cultivation of letters. 

The great purpose of a just and generous education is, 
to prepare men for active life ; and this applies as well to 
that education which every intelligent man gives himself, 
as to that which he receives from his parents and instruc- 
ters. Now what condition of society would be chosen as 
most favorable to the developement of moral and intel- 
lectual excellence ? Where would you search for vigor 
of understanding, united with strength of principle, and 
activity of habit ? Would it be among the oppressed and 
degraded subjects of a despotic government, where the 
manners, opinions, and religion of a nation are fashioned 
by the caprice of an individual? Or, would you look 



58 ORATION BEFORE THE *Ji. B. K. 

for profound thought and stern morality among the luxu- 
rious attendants of an ancient court ? We are too apt, 
gentlemen, to suffer our imaginations to be dazzled by 
the " pomp and circumstance," which surround great 
men of other times and other countries. We attribute 
to the companions of a prince, a delicacy of feeling, a 
chivalrous sense of honor, a lofty pursuit of excellence 
for its own sake ; but, alas ! " 'T is distance lends en- 
chantment to the view ; " a nearer approach discloses to us 
laxity of principle, profligacy of conduct, and a life of 
perpetual idleness and discomfort. These are the una- 
voidable consequences of a state of society, in which a 
large body of men are placed above the necessity of daily 
employment ; and in which the distinctions of birth and 
hereditary weakh procure that complacency and regard 
from others, which forms so essential an ingredient in 
our happiness. But would you give the human mind a 
chance of attaining its highest perfection, you would con- 
stitute a society in which all were equally and directly 
interested in the public welfare ; where the highest hon- 
ors of the state were open to the competition of all ; and 
in which talents were at once wealth and power. Need 
I add that such a state of society is ours ? Need I tell 
you that the principles which animated the genius of 
Greece, and strengthened the patriotism of Rome, are im- 
bodied in our institutions ? that honor, and fame, and 
political power, await the successful exertions of mind, 
in every pursuit of life ^ 

A natural consequence of the popular nature of the 
government is the character of practical utility, which is 
stamped upon all our institutions. We are a young and 



ORATION BEFORE THE 0. B. K. , 59 

busy people, fearless in speculation, and adventurous in 
practice. The arts which minister to pleasure alone, are 
little valued among us. All our studies aim directly at 
the improvement of our situation, and are such as depend 
upon a knowledge of human nature, and of what contrib- 
utes to our actual enjoyment. When we contemplate the 
noble establishments of Europe, her colleges and halls, 
venerable for their antiquity, and illustrious from the 
minds which have there been formed ; when we survey 
her extensive libraries, rich with the gathered wisdom of 
two thousand years ; when we consider her seats of learn- 
ing, cherished by her sovereigns, and endowed with the 
revenues of princes ; we are apt to blush for the poverty 
and insignificance of our own institutions. I should pity 
the man who could wander among the gardens and clois- 
ters of Oxford, and not indulge in the warmth of gene- 
rous admiration. The heart must be cold indeed, which 
would not beat with enthusiasm on the spot, which has 
been hallowed by the step of so many statesmen, philoso- 
phers, and poets. But it must not be concealed that 
these institutions, splendid as they are, have sunk into 
the indolence which generally attends luxury and estab- 
lished reputation. Look through the catalogue of pro- 
fessors and fellows in these universities, and you will find 
them contented with a calm and languid mediocrity, or 
wasting their strength upon the technical parts of learning, 
useless as they are to every purpose of practical improve- 
ment. At Oxford, you will find the meed of glory award- 
ed to him, who can best scan a line of Pindar, or setde a 
disputed quantity in a chorus of Euripides. At Leyden, 
you will find Wyttenbach, the living glory of Holland, 



60 ORATION BEFORE THE *. B. K. 

lamenting that human life is too short to publish a criti- 
cal edition of Plutarch. He has employed thirty labori- 
ous years, upon the " Treatises of Morals " alone, and 
will probably sink into the grave, under the burden of 
age, before he has perfectly illustrated his author. You 
must forgive me, if 1 prefer the plain sense and active use- 
fulness of the Scotch Universities, as destitute of wealth and 
patronage as our own, to such learned and laborious tri- 
fling. In estimating their effect upon the moral and in- 
tellectual improvement of society, no rational man could 
hesitate in adjudging the prize of merit to Robertson, 
Smith, Beattie, and Stewart, rather than to Markland, 
Toup, Musgrave, and Porson. 

I would not be understood as depreciating the impor- 
tance of classical learning. No man bows with more 
reverence before the noble remains of ancient wisdom 
and eloquence. No one is more persuaded that the pre- 
servation of good taste and sound learning depends upon 
the constant, assiduous, and persevering study of the 
writers of Rome and Greece. But we should contem- 
plate the glory of other times, only that we may kindle 
with emulation, and glow with rival beams. It is to be 
lamented, that this light of learning, as yet, has only 
dawned upon our country. But we trust that in the me- 
ridian day of our literature, we shall not be degraded in- 
to a herd of grovelling commentators, and hunters of syl- 
lables. 

The fondness for political speculations, which is so 
striking a feature in the character of our countrymen, 
may be regarded as one of their proudest distinctions. 
The science of Politics, in the words of Aristotle, is the 



ORATION BEFORE THE 0. B. K. 61 

supreme, and master-workman of the rest ; ^H Hohtixtj 
nvQKoiarr] y.al uQxnenTovixT^. To form a State " wisely 
constituted, and skilfully administered," may well call in- 
to action the brightest talents and noblest energies of our 
nature. If our studies and exertions should, in the first 
instance, centre in the happiness and improvement of do- 
mestic life, we should still keep in view the higher and 
nobler purpose of conferring benefit upon our country. 
If powerful emotion constitutes the happiness of great 
minds, there is an object upon which the feelings may 
be honorably engaged, ihei'e is a career in which the 
loftiest ambition may not disdain to fly. Do you ask 
if pohtical science can afford you excitement and employ- 
ment as men of letters ? You surely cannot forget that 
it comes in contact with every pursuit and employment 
in life 5 you cannot fail to exclaim with Cicero, " Quid 
porro tarn regium, tarn liberale, tam munificum, quam re- 
tinere homines in civitate ! " I need only recall your 
attention, gentlemen, to some of your own number, to 
prove that talents, and learning, and eloquence may find 
adequate and honorable employment in the councils of 
the nation. 

I hope you will not accuse me of a love of paradox, 
if I enumerate among the advantages of our country, that 
it has not yet attained the height of what is called civili- 
zation and refinement. Perhaps I may not be understood 
without explanation. In the progress of society, the in- 
crease of wealth and luxury generates a love of the arts, 
and collects men together in crowded cities ; where 
wealth may be best displayed, and luxury find its appro- 
priate enjoyments. The necessity of amusement obliges 
6 



62 ORATION BEFORE THE 0. B. K. 

them to cultivate the arts of conversation (I am speaking ; 
of men of intelligence), and to derive from a rapid suc- 
cession of company, and a lively discussion of literary top- 
ics, that excitement, which others receive from regular 
application and stated employments. They become, al- 
most necessarily, acute and penetrating, quick in discern- 
ment, and fastidious in taste ; but they become, at the 
same time, impatient of labor, and desirous rather of 
pleasure, than improvement. Besides, the love of ridi- 
cule, which is always generated in large societies, is di- 
rectly opposed to the enthusiasm which leads to great un- 
dertakings. It is chiefly in retirement and solitary med- 
itation, that you can collect vigor for noble exertions. 

I may congratulate you, too, that as a nation, you are 
just entering upon the career of glory. The people, 
from whom you derive your origin, have consummated 
their national greatness upon the waves of Trafalgar and 
the field of Waterloo. Henceforth they can derive pleas- 
ure only from the recollections of the past ; you may be 
happy in proud anticipations of the future. They can 
live in memory, you may rejoice in hope. They can 
look back upon a long line of illustrious ancestors, and 
feel conscious that they have not tarnished their glory ; 
you may consider yourselves as the founders of a new 
race, and may deliver your fame as a sacred inheritance 
to be cherished by posterity. They may celebrate the 
praises of others, you may yourselves be the subject of 
eulogy. 

It has been remarked by those who have reasoned 
most profoundly upon the constitution of society, that 
the human mind has never, in modern times, attained its 



ORATION BEFORE THE 0. B. K. 63 

full and perfect maturity but among the Protestant na- 
tions of Christendom. In reviewing the splendid career 
of human intelligence, during the last three centuries, it is 
impossible not to ascribe much of its progress to the Re- 
formation of Luther. That great man gave an impulse 
to society which it has ever since preserved. He taught 
men to examine, to reason, to inquire. He unfolded to 
their wondering gaze, a form of moral beauty, vv^hich had 
been too long shrouded from their eyes by the timid 
dogmatism of the Papal church. It is to Protestant 
Christianity, gentlemen, that you are indebted for the no- 
blest exercise of your rational powers. It is to Protes- 
tant Christianity, that you owe the vigor of your intellec- 
tual exertions and the purity of your moral sentiments. 
I could easily show you how much the manliness of En- 
glish literature, and the fearless intrepidity of German 
speculation, and how much even of the accurate science 
of France, may be ascribed to the spirit of Protestant 
Christianity. It is from the influence of this spirit, that 
the sublime astronomy of La Place has not been, like 
that of Galileo, condemned as heretical. It is to Protes- 
tant Christianity, that you owe the English Bible ; a vol- 
ume that has done more to correct and refine the taste, 
to elevate the imagination, to fill the mind with splendid 
and glowing images, than all the literature which the 
stream of time has brought down to the present age. 
I hope I am not laying an unhallowed hand upon the 
Ark of God, if I presume to recommend the Bible to 
you as an object of literary enthusiasm. The Bible ! — 
Where in the compass of human literature, can the fancy 
be so elevated by sublime description, can the heart be 



64 ORATION BEFORE THE *. B. K. 

SO warmed by simple, unaffected tenderness ? — Men of 
genius ! who delight in bold and magnificent speculation, 
in the Bible you have a new world of ideas opened to 
your range. — Votaries of eloquence ! in the Bible you 
find the grandest thoughts clothed in a simple majesty, 
wordiy of the subject and the Author. — Servants of God ! 
I need not tell you that the glories of immortality are re- 
vealed in language, which mortal lips had never before 
employed ! — But I forbear. The Bible is in your hands ; 
and even now, while I am speaking its praise, *' it is si- 
lently fulfilling its destined course," it is raising many a 
heart to the throne of God. 

The prevalence of religious controversies may be there 
regarded as another advantage, in estimating the intellectu- 
al condition of our countrymen. Though much evil has 
arisen, and from the nature of things must arise, from the 
asperity of party contest, yet subjects of so awful a na- 
ture, and so interesting to the feelings and happiness of 
all, can hardly be discussed without producing some ele- 
vation of mind and seriousness of temper. In our coun- 
try, the maxims and doctrines of the higher philosophy, 
discourses on the being and attributes of the Deity, and 
on the nature and destination of the human soul, subjects 
which among the ancient philosophers were revealed on- 
ly to the initiated, are matter of daily and hourly conver- 
sation. I appeal to the records of past experience, to the 
general history of mankind, to illustrate the effect of re- 
ligious freedom. Why is all the literature of Germany 
at this day confined to her Protestant provinces ? Why 
has Catholic Switzerland never produced a single man, 
eminent in any art or science, while the Protestant Can- 



ORATION BEFORE THE fp. B. K. 65 

tons have been, for two centuries, enlarging the bounda- 
ries of human knowledge ? Why, in fine, was Catholic 
France always superior in intelligence to the nations 
around her, to Spain, to Sicily, to Naples ? Because 
Catholic France was never without heretics ; because, 
even after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, subjects 
of religious controversy were kept alive by books from 
Switzerland and Holland, by the manly sense of Grotius, 
and the subtle infidelity of Bayle. It is impossible that 
men should be dull and sordid in their feelings, or low 
and grovelling in their desires, who are familiar with the 
sublime conceptions of Christian philosophy. And where 
many minds are ardently engaged in the pursuit of knowl- 
edge, on subjects most interesting to their happiness, the 
impulse is gradually communicated to other classes in the 
community, and extended to other subjects of research. 

I have thus, gentlemen, enumerated a few of the cir- 
cumstances which distinguish us from other nations, and 
they are all favorable to the cultivation of letters. I 
could add many other particulars. I could dwell upon 
the influence of climate, which renders us susceptible of 
more moral tenderness, of more deep feeling, and per- 
manent emotion, than the lively nations of the South ever 
experience. I could call your attention to the natural 
scenery of our country, to her lofty mountains and spread- 
ing vales, to her rapid rivers, to her lakes and forests, 
fitted to excite and cherish the loftiest feelings of poetical 
enthusiasm. But I have said enough ; you have already 
felt and acknowledged, that neither the proud presump- 
tion of the Grecian States, nor the stern severity of an- 
cient Rome, nor the luxurious refinement of modern Eu- 
6* 



66 ORATION BEFORE THE <P. B. K. 

rope, could open a brighter path to intellectual greatness, 
than the habits and institutions of Protestant, Republican 
New England. 

I trust, I have not fostered in your bosoms, a spirit of 
national vanity, in thus displaying the advantages you pos- 
sess. I have had a higher aim. I would excite in you 
and myself a deep conviction of our duty and responsibil- 
ity ; I w^ould warm your hearts to the love of glory, by 
showing that the lasting honors of learning are within 
your reacli, that you have only to extend your arm to 
seize the crown of imperishable fame. Why is it, that 
your names may not descend to posterity as the heroes 
of intellectual greatness ? Is there no one among you, 
whose spirit may be stimulated to unremitted exertion, 
who will feel the conviction that the greatest possible ex- 
ertion of his powers has become his moral duty ; that his 
friends, his country have a claim upon him for the last 
degree of moral and intellectual improvement, of which 
his nature is capable ? Permit me to indulge the hope 
that there are many such, — many who are even now 
cheering their solitary hours by the hopes of future re- 
nown, — many who are drinking deep at the inexhausti- 
ble fountains of Grecian and Roman lierature, — many 
who are filling their minds with noble conceptions, and 
warming their hearts with generous emotions, by a daily 
perusal of the Oracles of God. Of such permit me to 
take leave in the ardent language of the prince of elo- 
quence ; " Quamobrem pergite, ut facitis, adolescentes, 
atque in id sludium, in quo estis, incumbite ; ut et nobis 
honori, et amicis utilitati, et reipublicse emolumento esse 
possitis." 



PAPERS 



BEFORE THE PORTSMOUTH FORENSIC SOCIETY. 



[Some account of the Society before which the five following papers 
were delivered, is to be found in the Memoir prefixed to the present 
volume. From this account, it will be understood, that the opinions 
expressed before the Society were not always those of the person who 
delivered them ; but, often, in a great measure, such as were prescrib- 
ed by the nature of all similar discussions. This should not be forgot- 
ten, when reading several of the subsequent arguments, which are to 
be considered only as a defence of opinions Mr. Haven was called on 
to maintain. It will not, however, escape observation, that while he 
has defended the side of the question assigned him in the discussion, 
he has done it, not in the spirit of a professed advocate, but in the spir- 
it of one, who is sincerely inquiring after truth.] 



ON TRACTS. 



WHICH IS MOST BENEFICIAL TO THE CAUSE OF CHRISTIANITT, 
BIBLE, MISSIONARY, OR TRACT SOCIETIES ? " 



I HAVE listened, sir, with no little pleasure to the re- 
marks which have just been made upon the importance 
of Bible and Missionary Societies. It is a happy cir- 
cumstance, that among the jarring opinions and conflict- 
ing pursuits of human life, there is one subject on which 
all may agree, one point to which all efforts may be 
directed, — the cause of human improvement. Whatever, 
may be our opinions on other subjects, however widely 
separated by our speculations in religion or politics, we 
here meet on common ground. We all wish well to our 
race ; and it is our happiness, as well as our interest, to 
promote their moral and intellectual improvement. 

If we take a rapid glance at the history of man, we 
find that his conduct, his habits of thinking as well as of 
acting, are intimately connected with his religious belief. 
While, under other systems of religion, he has been sta- 
tionary or degraded, it is grateful to remark, that under 
the Christian dispensation, man has been progressive ; 
his future and perpetual progress is provided for, and en- 



70 ON TRACTS. 

couraged, and enjoined by it. While it raises him above 
the mere enjoyment of his senses, it opens to him what- 
ever can enlarge the affections, or purify the taste, or 
excite the imagination, or mature] the reason. All the 
institutions of Christianity operate directly to produce the 
greatest amount of virtue and happiness, and the highest 
degree of intellectual improvement. 

And here it may be remarked, that in all religious 
communities a principle of life and activity exists, that is 
not found in political ones. The members are more ac- 
tive, in proportion as their sense of duty is stronger, and 
the sanctions of their law are more powerful. The lead- 
ers of such a community have an influence, which politi- 
cal leaders can never attain. " Their hold is upon the 
heart of man, upon his hopes and fears, the weakness and 
the strength of his nature." 

Whether, therefore, we regard the effects which it has 
actually produced, or the means which it has of influen- 
cing human conduct, we are justified in looking to religion, 
rather than to political establishments, as the great agent 
in producing knowledge and happiness. The cause of 
Christianity, then, is the cause of human improvement. 

But how to extend this blessing, how to make the 
ignorant understand its sublime doctrines, the vicious re- 
ceive its moral precepts, the doubting submit to its solemn 
sanctions ; how to gain access to the heart of the preju- 
diced, or to the mind of the barbarian ; these are ques- 
tions upon which we may well pause. There have been 
times, when, to the disgrace of Protestant Christianity, 
the duty of doing something for the improvement of the 
world, seems never to have occurred. But now it is far 



ON TRACTS. 7J 

Otherwise ; and the intellectual and moral excitement of 
the present age is not one of the least benefits, that have 
attended, or followed, the tremendous revolutions we 
have witnessed. The question now is, not whether we 
shall do any thing for mankind, but how we shall act with 
the most effect. 

And here the friends of the Bible Society rise, and tell 
us — * Put the Scriptures into the hands of every man ; 
translate them into every language ; let " all kingdoms 
and nations and tongues " unite in reading the word of 
God.' Tliis is indeed a sublime conception ; and worthy 
of that religion, which teaches that " all nations are made 
of one blood," and are children of the same common 
Father. But we must not suffer our imaginations to be 
so much dazzled by the splendor of the project, as to 
overlook its practical difHcuhies. Have these gentlemen 
duly considered what the Bible is, that they should send 
it forth alone, and expect it to convert the world ? The 
Bible contains upwards of sixty distinct writings, compos- 
ed by at least thirty-four different authors, some of whom 
lived more than sixteen hundred years apart. It was 
written originally in different languages ; one of which is 
now lost, except in the Bible itself; so that no other book 
exists with which it can be compared, or by which its 
meaning can be ascertained. It presents a history of 
more than four thousand years, and records the actions 
of a nation distinguished from all others, not only by its 
rites, ceremonies, and religious opinions, but by its politi- 
cal government, its strange vicissitudes, its striking mis- 
fortunes, and its more wonderful preservation. It con- 
-tains writings which darkly shadow out the fortunes, not 



72 ON TRACTS. 

only of the people to whom they were addressed, but of 
the whole human race ; and that to the end of the world. 
It is full of allusions to the manners, customs, and insti- 
tutions of nations, that have long since been swept from the 
earth ^ it refers to books, whose former existence is known 
only by the reference itself ; it contains warnings and 
prohibitions, and prescribes rites and ceremonies, which 
have been abrogated for two thousand years, and the rea- 
son of which can now be only conjectured. The Bible 
too is full of poetry, not only of sublime conceptions and 
lofty poetical images,* but of verse in its literal meaning. 
Biblical critics of the last century, have succeeded in re- 
storing the metre, not only of the Book of Psalms, but of 
Job, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the greater part of the Minor 
Prophets. Some of these are concise, sententious, and 
abrupt like Pindar ; others exhibit the generous indigna- 
tion of Juvenal, and rebuke the luxurious and reprove the 
unjust, with the force and dignity and eloquence of the 
Roman satirist ; others again have the sublimity, and 
ardor, and boldness of Homer ; while in all, there are 
occasional passages of tenderness and pathetic simplicity. 
Those who^are conversant with the writings of antiqui- 
ty, need not be told that a book so old as this, and upon 
so great a variety of subjects, must necessarily present 
many difficulties. If there are passages in Homer, which 
we cannot understand, with all the aid of the philosophers, 
historians, and poets of ancient Greece ; if there are laws 
of the Twelve Tables, which are unintelligible even when 
cited by Cicero and Pliny ; how much more difficulty 
should we expect to find in the institutes of Moses, or 
the poetry of Joel. 



ON TRACTS. 73 

And such is the fact. Which of us, with all the ad- 
vantages of early Christian education and of weekly in- 
struction, will say, that he fully understands any one of 
the numerous writings contained in this wonderful book ? 
It has been well remarked by a most pious and eloquent 
Baptist, John Foster, that no intelligent man can read the 
Bible for ten minutes, without wishing to ask a hundred 
questions, which can only be answered from other books 
than the Bible. And will you put this volume, thus re- 
quiring so much previous knowledge, into the hands of a 
Caffre, or a New-Zealander, and expect him, alone, un- 
assisted, and unenlightened, to extract from it a system 
of rational faith ? To suppose this, would be to suppose 
that the mere present of a Bible is accompanied with a 
miraculous agency, that enables the receiver to under- 
stand it, and to value it. Besides, how is he to be made 
acquainted with the external evidences of Christianity ? 
How is he to know that it is a book sent from God ? 

I trust, sir, 1 am not misunderstood in these remarks. 
I am making no attempt to depreciate the value of the 
Scriptures. On the contrary, I approach them with the 
humble sentiment of Erasmus ; " In this book alone, I 
reverence even what I cannot understand." 

But, sir, the principles of our common faith are few 
and simple ; I mean the essential, the elementary princi- 
ples. When the first Gentile converts were baptized by 
Peter, the number of truths, in which they were instruct- 
ed, was very small ; and would look very insignificant 
by the side of the creeds and confessions of modern days. 
Yet their belief of these few propositions was accepted 
by an Apostle, and their reception into the church was 
7 



74 ON TRACTS. 

ratified by the gift of the Holy Ghost. And if you were 
to analyze the principles of an unlettered Christian, of 
any denomination, those principles upon which the great 
superstructure of his moral character is built, and upon 
which he rests his comfort here, and bis hopes of happi- 
ness hereafter ; you would find them as few and simple, 
as those of Cornelius, the Roman centurion. 

The true question then is, How can these kw, plain 
principles be best insinuated into minds undisciplined by 
truth, and unaccustomed to reflection. The Bible con- 
tains these principles, and, blessed be God, the Bible is 
in our hands. The Bible, too, contains a wonderful va- 
riety of other knowledge, sufficient to excite the strong- 
est mind, and to employ the labor of a hfe. Shall we 
then give the whole to an unlettered man, and leave him 
to grapple alone with the difficulties which have tasked 
the strength of the most powerful minds ? We do not 
act so irrationally in the education of our children. We 
do not give them a library, and leave them to choose for 
themselves the bdbks proper for their instruction. 

It will be perceived, that the force of m.y argument 
rests upon the assumption, that of the three modes of 
promoting human improvement presented by the ques- 
tion, only one can be pursued. The gentleman who 
preceded me has overlooked this consideration, in repre- 
senting Missionaries as translators of the Bible, and dis- 
tributors of Tracts. So far as they do this, they act as 
the agents of Bible and Tract Societies. Consider, then, 
what the Bible is, and estimate for a moment the effect 
it would produce, if presented alone to a Heathen, or to 
an unlettered man in a Christian country, and you will 



ON TRACTS. 75 

feel a melancholy conviction, that without the aid of mira- 
cles, the Bible alone will do but little to convert the Pa- 
gan world. 

But here I am told by the advocate of Missions, that 
Christianity must be propagated as it was in the times of 
the Apostles ; that pious men must go forth, bearing with 
them the word of God ; inculcating its precepts, explain- 
ing its difficulties, and exhibiting in their own persons a 
living monument of its efficacy. There is something, sir, 
at first view so imposing in the character of a Christian 
Missionary, that we need to guard ourselves against being 
swayed too much by our feelings. There have been 
men in different ages of the world, w^ho, laying aside all 
personal considerations, have devoted themselves to the 
work of propagating the Gospel, with an energy and sin- 
gleness of purpose, with a contempt of the maxims of 
worldly prudence, and a disdain of labor and suffering, 
at which ordinary minds stand aghast. Such were St. 
Francis and St. Dominic among the Catholics ; Loyola, 
and Francis Xavier, the apostle of the Indies ; such was 
Luther, the greatest name in modern history ; such were 
Wesley, and Whitfield, and David Brainerd ; and such, 
in our own times, was the spotless Henry Martyn. Yet 
the very enumeration of these illustrious men, serves only 
to convince us of the utter inefiicacy of Missionary ef- 
forts. What is the lesson of experience ? It is nearly 
two centuries, since the Jesuits, the most successful of 
Missionaries, penetrated into India and China. For 
more than a hundred and fifty years, the Dutch have 
had a Missionary establishment at Ceylon. What have 
they done ? Where are the trophies of their victory ^ 



76 ON TRACTS. 

What nation has been converted to Christianity ? What 
tribe of barbarians has been permanently civilized ? Look 
abroad through our own country ; what did Eliot and 
Brainerd effect for the poor savages of North America ? 
Show us your Christian Indians, and we will listen more 
readily to the claims of Missionary zeal. 

In truth, sir, when we speak of sending forth Mission- 
aries, like the Apostles, to propagate the Gospel, we 
overlook the infinite difference of the two cases. We 
forget that the one went forth, clothed with supernatural 
powers, and wrought miracles in attestation of their di- 
vine mission, while the others go forth with the feeble 
weapons of human acquirements, and guided by the faint 
light of human reason. The success has been propor- 
tionate to the means employed. And thus it will ever 
be. For what becomes of the argument for the truth of 
Chrisiianity, derived from the rapid spread of the Gospel 
in the times of the Apostles, if Missionaries, at the present 
time, can extend it as easily and rapidly by the mere 
force of human eloquence ? When Missionaries can 
work miracles, then, and not till then, will they be able 
to convert the world. 

We have been favored, sir, with an eloquent account 
of the exertions that are now making to send Missions to 
all parts of the world. It is Indeed an age of great moral 
and religious excitement ; and I rejoice that It is so. 
Nay more, I rejoice at Missionary exertions ; for 1 am 
no enemy to Missions. Yet I believe their beneficial 
effect is produced upon those who support them. It is 
the reaction that is favorable. They who labor to send 
Christianity to foreign lands, learn to prize it more at 



ON TRACTS. 77 

home ; and the vast sums annually collected for this 
purpose, give to common minds an imposing idea of the 
value of the benefit conferred. 

The great obstacle to the success of Christianity has 
always been, the vices of those who call themselves 
Christians. You go to a savage, and tell him you have 
a religion of unspeakable value to offer to his acceptance ; 
a religion that will make him virtuous and happy in this 
Jife, and secure his eternal happiness in the life to come. 
You excite his curiosity ; and he naturally inquires for 
those pure and happy beings who are already possessed 
of this blessing. Where would you direct his attention ? 
Would you lead him round the outskirts of Christendom, 
where the Pagan comes in immediate contact with those 
who bear the Christian name ? Alas, in this twilight of 
civilization, the difference between the Christian and the 
Pagan is but dimly discerned ; and the accidental ad- 
vantages of birth or fortune will throw the weight of per- 
sonal virtues, sometimes into this, and sometimes into the 
other scale. Or would you tell him to seek the effects 
of Christianity among the individuals who sometimes 
penetrate into his own distant country ? This is the best 
standard you can offer ; for you cannot transport him at 
once into the bosom of your own free, and civilized, and 
happy community. You can only point to those who 
have been educated among you, and who have imbibed 
the character which your institutions naturally give. And 
what a standard is this ! W^hile the nations of India have 
among them two hundred thousand Englishmen, usurping 
every office, spreading themselves through all parts of 
the country, inspecting every village, and visiting every 

7* 



7S Oif TRACTS. 

house, not in the spirit of Christian love to enlighten, and 
comfort, and elevate, but in the reachings and graspings 
of an insatiable avarice, to discover new subjects of op- 
pression, and new means of extortion ; while these men 
are supported in their iniquitous exactions by the bayo- 
nets of fifty thousand soldiers, greedy of gain, and willing 
to blast every field, and consume every house, and de- 
stroy every temple, to gain new possessions to plunder, — 
can you wonder that the Hindoos are averse to the 
Christian faith ? They become Christians ! Do we 
adopt the opinions of those we hate ? When was it ever 
known, that the oppressed imbibed the sentiments, and 
copied the manners, of the oppressor ? Every principle 
of the human mind revolts at it. 

But let us not fix our attention so long upon a foreign 
country, as to forget our own. When we cast our eyes 
upon our own fair fields and bright w^aters, does it never 
occur to us, that this smiling land was once the possession 
of a Pagan race, who valued it as dearly as we do ? who 
must have loved it more dearly ; because it contained the 
mouldering bones of their fathers for more centuries than 
we can count in this new world. And where is the 
miserable remnant of these nations, once so numerous 
and powerful ? In the barren prairies and rocky moun- 
tains, to which we have driven them, need we ask whe- 
ther they are Christians ? 

Nor is the case different with the few tribes who re- 
m-ain among us. I was once acquainted with a Mission- 
ary, who had labored some time among the Seneca In- 
dians. A chief of that tribe, at a public conference 
which was held upon the Christian religion, thus express- 



ON TRACTS. 79 

ed the opinion of himself and his nation ; " Your good 
book has two meanings ; a thing which we cannot under- 
stand. You read in it, that Christians must not be liars, 
nor thieves, nor drunkards ; yet Christians make Indians 
drunk, and tell them great lies, and steal away all their 
beaver skins, and call this trading. There is a secret 
about your good book, which you will not tell to poor In- 
dians." An inhabitant of Tanjore said to Christian 
Swartz, the Missionary, " Sir, if you send a person to us, 
send one who has learned all your ten commandments." 

Thus it is that the vices of Christians everywhere op- 
pose an obstacle to the success of Christianity. Till, 
therefore, the principles of Christianity prevail more 
among ourselves, the cause of Foreign Missions is almost 
hopeless. Nor is the case much better with Domestic 
Missions, for reasons that I shall presently notice. 

In fact, since the first ages of Christianity, the faith 
has been spread, not by preaching, but by colonization. 
Nations have become Christian as they have become civ- 
ilized, by having Christian colonies planted among them, 
or by falling under the dominion of nations already Christ- 
ian. There is a striking difference between the first es- 
tablishment and subsequent extension of Christianity, to 
which I have already adverted. It was planted in the 
world by the immediate power of its divine Author ; it is 
left to be extended by the exertions of its feeble profes- 
sors ; just as the understanding is the immediate gift of 
God, but its improvement or perversion is left to the care 
of him who possesses it. For Missionaries in the pres- 
ent day, even if their number was increased to their wild- 
est wishes, to expect the success of the Apostles, deserves 



80 ON TRACTS. 

a stronger name than folly or presumption. Their error 
consists in applying to themselves the directions and the 
promises given to the inspired Apostles. The " foolish- 
ness of preaching," which was to convert the world, was 
preaching attended with miracles ; but we have no prom- 
ise that the preaching of uninspired Missionaries shall 
convert the world. 

There is, in the necessary constitution of Missions, a 
radical vice that goes far to destroy their usefulness. A 
Missionary is generally itinerant 5 though he may do 
something to awaken attention to religious subjects, he 
can effect little in nourishing the Christian virtues, which 
are tender plants, and frequently of very slow growth. 
He is dependant upon a foreign society for support ; he 
does not therefore live in the mutual interchange of good 1 
offices, of favors received and given, which bind a minis- 
ter to his parish. He is under the control of a distant so- 
ciety, who can know little of the slow growth of humility 
and piety, but who are waiting to hear accounts of strik- 
ing success, of remarkable and sudden conversions. He 
is therefore tempted to make great excitements, to apply 
unwholesome stimulants, and to kill the gentler virtues 
by attempting to force them. And this he often does 
without being aware of it at the time. When David 
Brainerd had labored a year among the Stockbridgo 
Indians, he baptized seventy-seven persons, and admitted 
thirty to the communion. This he ascribed, with unhes- 
itating confidence, to the immediate operation of divine 
influence. Yet his biographer, the pious Jonathan Ed- 
wards, admits that but very few of them were really reli- 



ON TRACTS. 81 

gious ; the greater part being operated upon merely by 
sympathy. 

What then, you are ready to ask, shall we do for the 
improvement of mankind ? Where shall our benevolent 
feelings find their object, and how shall they be exerted 
with any hope of success ? If you advert for a moment 
to the objections which have been urged against the op^ 
erations of Bible and Missionary Societies, you will per- 
ceive at once, that the distribution of Tracts is free from 
most of these objections, and possesses, besides, many pe- 
culiar advantages. 

In the first place, Tracts may be written in a manner 
that will at once excite attention, and disarm prejudice. 
" The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain " has been read by 
many persons, who would never have opened a Bible, 
and who would have turned with aversion, or contempt, 
from the exhortations of the most eloquent Missionary. 
In this respect. Tracts possess an important advantage 
over both. In the second place, they admit of an infi- 
nite variety both of subject and style, and can therefore 
be adapted to every situation in life, to every age and 
character. They may be grave or gay, narrative or didac- 
tic, in prose or verse. They may contain direct state- 
ments of religious truth, as in a sermon or catechism ; or 
they may insinuate it under the guise of a fable, or an 
anecdote. " The Carpet Makers " of Hannah More, a 
little ballad of two pages, has probably relieved more 
minds from the difficulties of a particular Providence, 
than the learned dissertation of Dr. Price. 

The most zealous advocate for the distribution of the 
Bible will hardly contend that all its parts are equally 



©2 ON TRACTS. 

useful to every person. No one would direct the atten- 
tion of a child to the obscure predictions of Ezekiel, or 
the sublime mysteries of the Apocalypse. Now the 
Heathen are children in understanding ; and so, in a great 
degree, are the poor and unlettered in every country. In 
the very language of St. Paul, they should have " milk," 
and not " strong meat." But Tracts, and Tracts alone, 
afford the opportunity of making this selection. What- 
ever is plain and simple in the doctrines of the Scrip- 
tures ; whatever is interesting in the lives and fortunes 
of distinguished men, who have " fought a good fight and 
kept the faith ;" the sublime precepts and touching para- 
bles, of our Saviour; — these may be all imbodied in 
Tracts, and may gradually prepare the understanding 
and the heart for the reception of the whole word of God. 
On this subject, we have the experience of the Missiona- 
ries themselves in our favor. In the memorial of the 
Baptist Missionaries at Serampore to Lord Minto, they 
enumerate certain Tracts which they have published, and 
distributed among the natives. Among these I find 
" The Gospel Messenger," a short Bengalee poem, writ- 
ten to announce the translation of the Scriptures ; and 
*' The Dawn of Wisdom," written to invite them to an 
investigation of Christianity. What need have we of fur- 
ther witness ? 

I have spoken of the adaptation of Tracts to particular 
ages and characters. In this, they possess an important 
advantage over preaching, and of course over Missiona- 
ries. A man who preaches, addresses a promiscuous 
assembly. A discourse that may be very profitable to 
one part of his audience, may be very useless to another, 



ON TRACTS. 83 

Not so with Tracts. You may visit a family, and pre- 
sent one to each individual, adapted to his particular char- 
acter and habits. 

There is another consideration, sir, which with me has 
irresistible force. The enemies of Christianity, and the 
foes of good government, have hitherto found Tracts the 
most powerful instrument for effecting their purposes. 
They write no labored treatises ; they send forth no Mis- 
sionaries. It is sufficient for their object to circulate a 
song or an anecdote, or to exhibit a caricature. What 
were the licentious tales of Voltaire, which, month after 
month, and year after year, spread impurity and corrup- 
tion, and doubt and discontent, through so much of the 
civilized world ; — what were these but Tracts ? What 
was " The Age of Reason " but a Tract ? Think you, 
that Paine understood and felt the difficulties of revela- 
tion, and the plausible objections to Christianity, better 
than Toland or Tindal or Hobbes ? Yet his work is read 
and circulated, and is even now producing its sad effects 
upon the weak and the ignorant, while theirs have long 
since ceased to be found, except in public libraries, and 
upon the shelves of collectors. And whence this differ- 
ence ? Simply from the fact, that their works were too 
bulky to be read, except by the studious and the learned ; 
while his was a Tract that could be mastered in half an 
hour. Their works were like the vegetable poisons, bane- 
ful enough in their nature, but offering some security from 
the very quantity necessary to produce a fatal effect ; 
while his was the concentrated mineral poison, causing 
death by a single drop. 



S4 ON TRACTS. 

Surely, if ever it be lawful to learn policy from an ene- 
my, it is so here. We have felt the force of these weap- 
ons. Our ranks have been thinned by these light arrows, 
falling silently among us. What remains then for us, but 
to employ similar weapons ? Let us even darken the air 
with them, that at whatever point the enemy appears, he 
may be overwhelmed with the arrowy shower. 

It may be remarked too, that Tracts may be made the 
instruments of much collateral good, which Bibles and 
Missions cannot effect. They may diffuse a taste for lit- 
erature ; they may communicate a knowledge of useful 
arts ; they may enforce the maxims of prudence and 
domestic economy. In a little Tract of Hannah More's, 
which was written during the scarcity of 1795, the author 
has contrived to insert among the adventures of a Postil- 
lion, some important directions respecting the economical 
preparation of food. In a word, whatever literature and 
science can effect among the educated classes by magnifi- 
cent libraries and expensive instruments, may be pro- 
duced among the poor, though of course in a less degree, 
by the free circulation of Tracts. A pile of these in- 
teresting publications, it has been poetically remarked, 
" like the little cells of a honeycomb, contain the richest 
extracts from the finest flowers." 

It may be, however, that the two circumstances which 
contribute most to the efficacy of Tracts, prevent them 
from being duly appreciated ; I mean their cheapness 
and smallness. We can hardly bring ourselves to imagine 
that a little work of four or five pages, which costs only 
a cent, could influence the opinions or habits of any man. 
Yet if we reflect accurately upon the formation of our 



ON TRACTS. 85 

own characters, we shall find that we have become what 
we are, not in consequence of any mighty and over- 
whelming influence, but from a series of small impres- 
sions. Our most prominent and decisive traits of char- 
acter may frequently be traced back to a single thought, 
scarcely regarded, it may be, at first ; but returned to, 
and dwelt upon, till it becomes a part of our intellectual 
stock, and the foundation of our principles and habits. 

Now the cheapness of Tracts enables us to scatter 
them with boundless profusion ; while their smallness en- 
sures their being read by some one. What if thousands 
and tens of thousands are wasted and lost ? We can 
afford to lose them. How many millions of acorns are 
every year produced by a single oak ; yet if only one of 
them were every year to germinate and take root, how 
soon would the earth be covered by this prince of the 
forest. We cannot infer the size of the future plant, from 
the appearance of the seed. 

There are, in truth, few ways in which a man can ex- 
ert so great and lasting an influence upon society, as by 
composing a popular Tract. The press of a nation in- 
sensibly forms its manners and character ; and, of course, 
those works which are most generally read, which affect 
the greatest number of minds, are really the most impor- 
tant. In our moral and political speculations, we are apt 
to look too far for efficient causes ; and to ascribe to 
statesmen and philosophers, effects, which have really 
been produced by the novelist and the ballad-maker. 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 



That " history is philosophy teaching by example," 
is a sentiment that has passed into a maxim, a maxim as 
remarkable for its truth as its elegance ; but the philoso- 
phy to which it refers is that higher philosophy, which is 
conversant with men, — which makes human conduct its 
subject, and human happiness its ultimate object. It is 
that philosophy which comprehends in itself every thing 
relating to the government of life ; which does not waste 
its strength in minute observation of external nature, but, 
by a diligent examination of the capacities and conduct 
of men in various situations, endeavours to derive some 
rule for the regulation of life, and to make some probable 
conjecture of the issue of human actions. 

But in the wide field of general history, we may wan- 
der till we are bewildered, and wearied, with the number 
and variety of objects that present themselves to our 
view. At the first glance, the history of mankind appears 
only a confused scene of strife and battles and bloodshed. 
In every age, we find dissensions and revolutions, — the 
same crimes, the same triumphs, and apparently the 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 87 

same success. Every age and almost every country has 
had its civil refqrmer and its military conqueror. Yet if 
we advance a little further on the field, we shall discover 
some appearance of order, and distribution of parts ; — 
something that marks the struggles of one age from those 
of another, and stamps the effort with an individual char- 
acter. If we ascend some little eminence, and detach 
ourselves for a moment from the noise and bustle by 
which we are surrounded, we shall find that the whole 
of this struggle and tumult is raised and managed by 
a comparatively small number of men ; — that in the 
strongest rush of the tempest, there is a master-spirit 
exciting and directing the storm. 

It is therefore more conducive both to moral and in- 
tellectual improvement, to confine our attention to some 
detached group, or some individual object. A battle, 
if it could be accurately represented on canvass, would 
present nothing to the imagination but confusion and ter- 
ror ; but a single example of heroic valor, or disinter- 
ested virtue, at once touches our feelings and compels 
our attention. 

With these views of the nature and importance of 
history, and especially of individual history, I shall ven- 
ture to bring before you, this evening, a discussion of 
the character of JVapoleoii Bonaparte, The attempt, 
I know, is hazardous ; but I trust you will find in the 
attractions of the subject something to compensate for 
the faults of the execution. You will hardly expect that 
I should attempt to enumerate the events of his life ; 
for his history for twenty years Jias been the history of 
a great part of the civilized world. I cannot even of- 



88 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

fer you a finished portrait j but I hope to sketch with a 
rapid hand, some of those prominent features, in which 
the lines of character were distinctly marked and which 
cannot easily be mistaken. After all, it may be, that the 
effect upon your minds will be produced rather by what 
I shall omit to say, than by what I shall present to your 
notice. 

In calling your attention to the character of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, it cannot now be necessary to urge you to 
dismiss from your mind all prejudice and all partiality. 
The lightning which dazzled your eyes so long, has 
passed away ; and even the echoes of the distant thunder 
have ceased to be heard. You now may look out upon 
a serene sky, and gaze upon the portentous cloud as it 
is slowly sinking in the west. Napoleon Bonaparte is 
becoming to us what Alexander and Caesar have been, — - 
an object of wonder and curiosity, but not of personal 
interest. 

That Bonaparte was one of the first captains of the 
age, will not now be disputed ; and in granting this, we 
grant him talents of the highest order. The love of 
military glory is the most seducing passion than can 
swell the heart. In every country, w^ealth, and honors, 
and popular acclamations have been lavished upon mili- 
tary conquerors. The incense of popular favor has been 
offered to them while living ; and sculptured monuments 
and trophied urns have marked the place of their sepul- 
ture. Dreadful as are the miseries of war, in contem- 
plating a successful commander they are all forgotten. 
Even the victims of w^r learn to sympathize with the 
splendid greatness of the conqueror, and to derive some 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 89 

consolation for their sufferings, from the very greatness 
of the power that has overwhelmed them. All this has 
its foundation in our nature. We love excitement ; we 
admire sublimity ; and there is nothing that can so deep- 
ly interest and almost absorb our feelings, as to witness 
tremendous power in action. Hence it is that military 
commanders are the popular idols. Hence it is that the 
militar}^ profession has always been the favorite with men 
of great minds and ardent feelings. It affords room for 
the employment of their consuming energy. It holds out 
a prize to their ambition, wdiich nothing else can offer. 
It tasks their highest powers to the stretch ; for every day 
and every hour, not merely wealth, and fame, but life 
depends upon their exertions. The higher ranks of the 
military profession therefore are always filled by great 
men. And it would not be difficult to demonstrate, that 
the very nature of their employment requires talents and 
intellectual habits of a high order. The revolution in 
France, by removing every obstacle to the developement 
of military talent, has caused that nation to be distinguish- 
ed by more great commanders, than have appeared in 
the world since the days of Hannibal and Scipio Africa- 
nus. To be the first among such men, is proof of no 
ordinary powers. 

I am not sufficiently versed in military tactics to ex- 
plain the precise nature of Napoleon's merits as a soldier ; 
yet I think there is nothing in modern history that can be 
compared to his campaign in the Tyrol, in the months of 
February and March, 1797. It is worthy of remark, 
that when Hannibal fought his way through Gaul, and 
poured down his troops upon Italy from the summit of 
8* 



90 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE* 

the Alps, and when Bonaparte, after conquering Itaty, 
surmounted the same Alps, and dictated peace to Aus- 
tria, almost at the gates of Vienna, these distinguished 
men were each twenty-eight years old. Twenty-eight 
years ! What are we I and what is human life ! Sunk 
in indolence, engrossed in petty cares, or dissolved in 
pleasure 1 Twenty-eight years ! And are w^e but be- 
ginning to live ? 

But it is time to descend from this general view, to a 
more particular examination. What was the intellectual 
character, what were the habits of mind, of this man ? 
These are the questions I shall endeavour briefly to an- 
swer. The first and most striking trait in his character 
was its uncontrollable energy. It was, in every thing, 
the reverse of weakness and indolence. You see his 
faculties constantly exerted ; and whatever was the object, 
to that he directed his whole soul. It may be remarked 
too, that the objects of his pursuit were all of a high or- 
der. He wasted no strength in a degrading dissipation 
like His Majesty of England ; he devised no patterns for 
buttons and feathers, like the king of Prussia ; he wrought 
no embroidery for the Virgin, like the beloved Ferdi- 
nand ; — but whatever he did was grave and manly. 
From his first entrance into the military college at 
Brienne to his final overthrow at Waterloo, he seems to 
have been full of aspiring thoughts ; and through his 
whole life he had the dignity as well as the energy of 
ambition. It was as early as 1797 that he began to say, 
that if any one could combine the new system in France 
with a military government, he might raise her to a high 
rank among the nations, and maintain her in that elevation. 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 91 

And about the same time, when Count Meerfeldt, the 
Austrian ambassador, offered him a German principality, 
he frankly admitted that it was his object to get into the 
government of his own country. " If I once set my foot 
in the stirrup," he added, " I have no doubt I shall go 
far." 

It has sometimes happened that minds of great powers, 
and of unceasing activity, have been distinguished as 
much for their caprice as their exertions. You find them 
constantly laboring, but seldom in the same path. Pant- 
ing for universal praise, they grasp at every distinction 
within their reach ; and you find them in every possible 
employment, and under every possible variety of charac- 
ter. Not so with Napoleon ; — if he shot athwart our 
system with the rapid motion and portentous splendor of 
a comet, his course from its commencement was as 
steady, direct, and uniform, as that of the earth in her 
orbit. 

Another remarkable trait in his intellectual character 
v*7as the rapidity of his mental operations. An ordinary 
mind could scarcely keep pace with the conclusions of 
his understanding. While other men were laboriously 
stating the premises, he had already arrived at the con- 
clusion. Hence he rarely took counsel from those around 
him. His generals and ministers waited to receive his 
commands, not to offer their advice. Other despots have 
succeeded in bending to theirs, the will of those around. 
But he did more. It was not merely that his will was 
their will ; but his reason was their reason. He stood 
alone ; like a solitary watch-fire on a promontory, in the 
midst of a dark and stormy ocean. In this particular his 



92 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

character is strikingly contrasted with that of Washington. 
Our hero and legislator, though equally decisive in his 
ultimate opinion, exercised an uncommon degree of re- 
straint and self-government in the formation of that opin- 
ion. To avoid the possibility of error, he borrowed light 
from every source 5 he listened patiently to every opin- 
ion ; and the conclusions of his understanding were as 
gradual and sure, as the approach of day. The thin, 
pale light which first appeared, gradually brightened and 
extended ; then a few stronger rays flashed up, and were 
reflected from the broad red clouds, that still hung on 
the skirts of the night ; and then the clear bright sun 
rose in all his splendor and strength. When Washington 
had announced an opinion thus dehberately formed, you 
could as little doubt its correctness, as you could doubt 
the light of heaven diffused around you. 

Notwithstanding the rapidity of his conceptions, Napo- 
leon possessed the capacity of long and unremitted at- 
tention. To this his officers bear witness ; and it consti- 
tutes in itself no small portion of greatness. He appears 
at all times to have his habits of thought under entire 
command. Nothing is more striking than the fact, that 
in his most perplexing campaigns, and in the midst of the 
most distressing personal privations, he could, at all times, 
lie down and sleej) as soundly as a child. In 1809, after 
losing the battle of Lobau, he escaped across the Danube 
with only two persons. Marshal Berthier and an aide-de- 
camp. When he reached the opposite side of the river, 
he carelessly remarked, that he had gained forty battles, 
and could afford to lose one 5 and then without making a 
single inquiry after the fate of his army, he went to bed 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 93 

and slept soundly till morning. As a consequence of his 
rapid and decisive energy, we find Napoleon, from his 
childhood, distinguished for an entire confidence in his 
own judgment. An instance of this occurs to me in the 
siege of Toulon in 1793, when his great military talents 
were first distinguished. He was at this time a captain 
of artillery, and was employed by Barras, who had been 
sent thither as a commissioner by the National Assem- 
bly, to attack the height of Malbousquet, then in posses- 
sion of the English. In the midst of the engagement, 
Barras found fault with the direction of a gun. The 
young officer turned upon him with ineffable contempt ; — 
" Mr. Commissioner, attend to your own duties ; I am 
answerable for the success of the attack with my head. 
I know what is right." It should be remembered that 
Barras was then his only patron, and that he had plenary 
powers at Toulon, to direct all the operations of the 
siege. 

After the relation of these circumstances, it is scarcely 
necessary to add, that he was always a solitary and a 
selfish being. At school, in the army, on the throne, he 
had no companions, no friends. He made small account 
of good wishes or kind feelings. He required obedi- 
ence, he cared little for affection. He was like one of 
those masses of ice, that are sometimes loosened in the 
polar seas, and float down to milder climates, — beautiful 
and grand at a distance, as they reflect the play of the 
sunbeams, — but on their near approach, cold, and dreary, 
and desolate ; chilling the very air with their snows, and 
crushing all before them with their resistless weight. 



94 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

One effect of this cold selfishness was apparent in his 
military career. Except Frederic of Prussia, a name 
that should never be pronounced without the malediction 
of the human race, no commander in modern times has 
been so prodigal of human life. In all his campaigns, 
blood flowed like water. At the battle of Lodi, he or- 
dered his army to pass a bridge, that was incessantly 
raked by grape-shot from thirty pieces of cannon. Twice, 
all who entered upon the bridge were swept away ; and 
the third time, Berthier, Massena, and Lannes, succeed- 
ed in passing it over the dead bodies of three thousand of 
their companions. At the bridge of Arcole, a month or 
two afterwards, there was nearly an equal slaughter. 

In considering the intellectual character of Bonaparte, 
his love of learning and the fine arts cannot be passed 
over, and it is the more remarkable, as it harmonized so 
little with the cold severity of his general deportment. 
It is an authentic fact, that before the age of twenty-one 
he had composed a history of Corsica, which was com- 
municated in manuscript to the Abbe Raynal, and re- 
ceived his applause. In his Italian campaign, he set the 
example of requiring from the conquered nations a sur- 
render of those splendid monuments of ancient art, which 
have so long constituted the charm and glory of Italy. 
The act was robbery, but it was the spoil of no common 
robber. 

When he ordered his troops to spare the village of Pi- 
etola, where Virgil was born, and even indemnified the in- 
habitants for the expense of the war, it was doubtless mere 
affectation, designed for stage effect ; but it was such affec- 
tation as could never enter the head of a mere military 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 95 

adventurer. In Egypt he put at the head of his procla- 
mation, " Bonaparte, commander in chief, and member 
of the National Institute." This too was affectation; 
but when was science, in fact, so much advanced by a 
military expedition as by the invasion of Egypt. I have 
already touched upon one or two circumstances from 
which the moral character of his mind, as distinguished 
from the intellectual, may be inferred. If it were neces- 
sary to sum it up in one concise expression, I should say, 
it was boundless ambition and supreme selfishness. He 
lived only for himself. He sought only personal aggran- 
dizement ; and he pursued it at the expense of the whole 
human race. To stamp his name with indelible infamy, 
it is not necessary to impute to him any gratuitous crimes. 
He never did evil from the mere love of wickedness ; but 
then he never refrained from evil from any regard to prin- 
ciple. Of the audacity of his selfishness, a memorable 
proof is given in his letter to the Duke of Berg, his ne- 
phew, which was published at the time in the Paris news- 
papers : " Never forget," says he, " that your first duty is 
to me; your second, to France; and the jteople whom 1 
intrust to your care, have only the third claim upon you." 
These expressions describe most accurately the whole 
course of his foreign and domestic pohcy. Personal ag- 
grandizement was first sought ; then the glory and hap- 
piness of France, if not inconsistent with his private 
views ; then the interest of those unhappy nations, that 
were chained to his iron car. Napoleon Bonaparte was 
the farthest possible removed from a patriot. 

After this rapid analysis of his character, you may per- 
haps expect some comment upon his conduct, upon his 



96 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

character carried out into action. But here so wide a 
field is opening upon me, that 1 dare not venture to enter 
it. I shall only briefly advert to such facts, as may jus- 
tify the view I have taken of his character. 

I consider the campaign of 1797 as the highest point 
of his military elevation. He had then, in the short space 
of ten weeks, completed the conquest of Italy, subdued 
the states of Venice, crossed the Alps in the depth of 
winter, and dictated a peace to Austria, after defeating 
her numerous armies and baffling her most experienced 
generals. No commander, in all the records of history, 
ever gained so many splendid victories, in so short a 
time, and with such a handful of men. The progress of 
Caesar in Gaul scarcely equalled it in rapidity ; but Cae- 
sar fought against hardy, undisciplined barbarians, while 
Napoleon met the first troops in Europe, commanded by 
the gallant Beaulieu, the veteran Wurmser, and the Arch- 
duke Charles, the pride and hope of Germany, at once 
cautious and enterprising. He had been victorious in 
fourteen pitched batdes and seventy engagements ; he 
had destroyed three armies ; taken more than one hun- 
dred thousand prisoners, and two thousand five hundred 
cannon ; he had descended the Apennines ; he had 
crossed and recrossed the Alps ; — and all this in the 
depth of winter ! At Tarvis, where the flower of the 
Austrian army was beaten, the battle was fouglit on snow 
three feet in depth. At Ulm, Austerlitz, and Jena ; at 
Wagram and Dresden ; he merely sustained the reputa- 
tion he acquired at Castigllone and Rivoh. 

It is true he may have been, and probably was, indebt- 
ed to circumstances for much of his success. But how 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 97 

happened it, that circumstances were always in his favor ? 
that during a career of thirty years, he found himself al- 
ways in that precise situation which was best adapted to 
his personal advancement ? The truth is, a strong mind 
can bend even opposing circumstances to its will. It is 
not on the placid stream of enjoyment, that the mind is 
wafted forward to success ; but it is in the midst of strife, 
and contest, and difficulty. It is in the storm and among 
the billows, that the waters shine and sparkle. It is 
when all is darkness and tumult above, when the winds 
rise and the seas roar, — it is then that the ship cuts for 
herself a path of light through the waves, and leaves a 
long track of glory behind. 

If I were his panegyrist, I should place his fame as a 
magistrate upon the Napoleon Code, perhaps the best 
system of laws that has ever been devised in any age, 
or among any people. I say the best system, for such 
are the infinite number and variety of human concerns, 
that no system can be devised, that will reach entirely 
one case in a hundred of the subjects of litigation. The 
laws of every people must consist in a great measure of 
usages, that is, of unwritten law, or must be resolved into 
the arbitrary will of the magistrate. While therefore I 
give all praise to the Napoleon Code, I by no means 
admit its superiority to our Common Law, the noblest 
inheritance we have received from England. On the 
contrary, it must be compared only with our Statute 
Book ; and then (I hope our legislators will pardon nae) 
all comparison would be ridiculous. 

France is indebted to Napoleon for many works of 
great utility and splendor , for military roads ; for canals 
9 



98 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

and bridges ; for museums of natural history, and repos- 
itories of the fine arts ; for palaces and hospitals ; for 
triumphal arches and statues. But all these Egypt pos- 
sessed in her Pharaohs ; in those nameless tyrants who 
erected the Pyramids, and excavated the lake Moeris. 
When a man has at command the wealth and service of 
forty millions of the human race, it requires no great 
enterprise or philanthropy to construct magnificent public 
works. Even the licentious Phryne coveted the glory 
of rebuilding Thebes from her private wealth. She only 
required an inscription, that " Phryne rebuilt what Alex- 
ander destroyed." 

But it is in the moral condition of the people, that the 
true effect of Napoleon's administration is to be sought. 
There his splendors all vanish, or appear like the sickly 
light that is sometimes emitted by vegetable matter, the 
effect of decay and rottenness. By centring all authority 
in his own person, or in assemblies immediately nomi- 
nated by himself, he destroyed healthful excitement and 
emulation in the distant parts of his empire. Paris be- 
came a new Rome. All that Europe possessed of tal- 
ents or enterprise, flocked thiiher for employment ; and 
all employment depended upon his will. He exacted 
the most servile flattery from all who approached him, 
not from vanity, but because it gave him proof of his 
power. He sent abroad the spirit of servitude, and was 
never pleased but when he saw it extending, and diffusing 
itself through every rank in society, and affecting every 
institution. It is apparent that he had a thorough con- 
tempt for mankind, and regarded them merely as the 
instruments of his personal advancement. Hence his 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 99 

neglect of promises and engagements ; his disregard of 
all laws and treaties. Even his own Napoleon Code 
was a dead letter, when it interfered with his personal 
views. By that code a trial by jury is provided in all 
criminal cases. But what jury had Pichegru or Moreau? 
What trial had -the bookseller Palm, or the Due d'En- 
ghien ? 

His expedition to Egypt and Syria probably formed 
his taste for oriental manners. Certain it is, no sove- 
reign in Europe preserved so much state and ceremony. 
His own brothers were never permitted to sit in his 
presence. The hterary journals of Paris, which were 
published under his immediate inspection, contained per- 
petual praises and adorations of the emperor, that bor- 
dered upon blasphemy, and such as no monarch had re- 
ceived since the dark ages. The very children were 
taught a catechism, in which they were instructed, that 
resistance to the will of the emperor put in hazard their 
eternal salvation. That France resisted at last, shows 
that some virtue still remained in her ; that she submit- 
ted for fifteen years, proves that she was corrupt almost 
to the core. 

I have summoned from the pages of history, the dis- 
tinguished men who have been the destroyers, or bene- 
factors, of their race. I have placed them in groups 
before me, and have endeavoured to trace in their linea- 
ments, the features of Napoleon Bonaparte. In many 
I find some resemblance ; and as I contemplate his char- 
acter under difTerent lights, I am reminded successively 
of the ambition of Alexander, the promj)tness of Ccesar, 
the stern self-confidence of Marius ; I see him now affect- 



100 NAPOLEOX BONAPARTE. 

ing the splendor and literary taste of the Medici ; and 
again surpassing Charles of Sweden in presumption and 
fool-hardiness. But as a conqueror, I think he is best 
compared with Mohanfimed. He made war in the spirit 
of the Arabian prophet ; the Koran or the sword, the 
alternative of the one ; war or submission, the threat of 
the other. In his treatment of the conquered, while he 
affected to imitate the Romans by admitting them to an 
alliance, it was not the Romans of the elder republic, 
but degenerate Romans, who had been corrupted by 
the conquest of Carthage. He took no pains to concili- 
ate his fallen enemies. It was sufficient that they feared 
him ; and terror was employed to enforce the most mer- 
ciless exactions. 

As a statesman he was rather adroit and cunning, than 
wise and magnanimous. The acquisition of power had 
corrupted his moral sentiments without enlarging his 
views. Having no belief in the existence of human vir- 
tue, he used no other means to compass his end than 
intimidation or corruption. Hence all his treaties were 
false and hollow, full of trick and knavery. He address- 
ed himself to the vices of those around him ; to their 
basest passions, their cowardice, their avarice, or their 
love of debauchery ; for, as I have already stated, all his 
projects centred in his personal aggrandizement. 

But all this has passed away. He, who made the na- 
tions to tremble, has died in confinement and obscurity. 
He, whose taste and magnificence created palaces and 
triumphal monuments, has found a solitary grave in a 
distant and barren rock ! 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 101 

Of the eiFect of Napoleon Bonaparte upon the char- 
acter and happiness of mankind, it is yet too early to form 
any opinion. We know that, in the natural world, the 
lightning and tempest, however desolating in their imme- 
diate effects, are necessary to the purity and healthful- 
ness of the atmosphere. And so in the moral world, the 
occasional appearance and success of a conqueror and 
usurper, may in the providence of God, be productive of 
ultimate good. But whatever opinion may be entertain- 
ed of his personal character, or the effect of his admin- 
istration, one reflection irresistibly presses upon us. What 
is the value of ambition, when directed to personal ag- 
grandizement ? We have been considering one instance 
of the most successful ambition that the world ever saw. 
But what has it all come to ? How is Napoleon Bona- 
parte better than the nameless thousands, who are fatten- 
ing the fields of Austerhtz and Jena ? What is now the 
value of his iron crown and imperial sceptre ? What was 
ever their value in the eyes of Him, at whose glance 
crowns and sceptres crumble into dust, and thrones and 
empires flee away as a shadow ? Oh, there is nothing in 
life worth pursuit but personal improvement ; there is 
nothing in life can give happiness, hui personal virtue ! 



ON THE SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS 
WORSHIP. 



" WHETHER LAWS WHICH COMPEL A MAN TO PAY TAXES FOR THE 
SUPPORT OF PUBLIC WORSHIP, AND LEAVE THE APPLICATION 
OF THE MONEY TO THE WILL OF A MAJORITY, BE FOUNDED 
ON SOUND PRINCIPLES ? " 

The right of private property is founded upon the 
wants of our nature, and the necessity of having some 
motive and reward for industry. In what manner we 
get the first notion of property, or how the present dis- 
tribution of property was first made in society, it is un- 
necessary now to inquire. It is sufficient for my purpose 
to state the general principle, which can hardly be con- 
troverted, — that the whole society has a right to the 
whole property which it possesses, and that this whole 
property should be employed for the advancement of the 
common good. Among a horde of savages, where 
property is consumed as fast as it is produced, there is 
no accumulation, and consequently no distribution of 
property. But among nations who have enjoyed the 
blessings of civilization, there is a great accumulation of 
property, and it is distributed among different classes and 
individuals in society, as the local situation, the manners, 
and habits of the several nations require. Laws are 



SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 103 

never arbitrary rules, but spring naturally from circum- 
stances that have previously existed. We shall find 
therefore, in every nation, the distribution of property 
regulated by what is, or is supposed to be, the common 
good. In most of the nations of Europe, the lands of the 
father descend to the eldest son, to the exclusion of 
younger sons ; and to the remotest male relative, to the 
exclusion even of daughters. Under the feudal system 
there was a good reason for this arrangement. The pos- 
sessor of lands was bound to perform military service ; 
and an elder son was generally better able to be a soldier, 
from his age and experience, than younger children. For 
the same reason, females were always excluded. But per- 
sonal property, consisting chiefly of household goods and 
provisions, was divided equally among all ; for all equally 
needed the means of present subsistence. 

When, in the fifteenth century, the Turk first encamp- 
ed in Europe, he came at the head of a hostile army, 
seized the countries of the vanquished, and reduced their 
inhabitants to slavery. It was inconsistent with the disci- 
pline of a military life, to permit the soldiers to acquire 
a permanent property in land, and to settle as peaceful 
farmers. The whole land therefore was seized as the 
common property of the whole, and the Sultan parcelled 
it out from year to year, as the wants or the merit of 
his soldiers required. At the present day, the Grand 
Seignior is proprietor of all the soil, and every subject 
pays him an annual rent for its possession. 

Two centuries ago, when our ancestors came to this 
country, they brought with them more enlightened views 
of the public good, and permitted every individual to re- 



104 SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 

tain whatever portion of the bounties of nature he could 
appropriate to his own use ; but still subject to the sim 
pie regulations which the majority imposed. 

I have brought these examples to prove that property 
every where belongs to the whole society, and never 
absolutely to individuals ; and that the mode of distribut- 
ing property among individuals is every where regulated 
by the circumstances of the whole society. In England, 
the eldest son inherits the whole property, because a 
wealthy aristocracy is necessary for the support and regu- 
lation of the monarchy ; and a monarchy is thought es- 
sential to the public good. In this country, property is 
divided equally among all the children, because a wealthy 
aristocracy would be fatal to our republican institutions, 
and a republic is thought necessary for the public good. 
Property then is every where subject to the claims of 
the whole society ; and no tax is an infringement of the 
rights of property, which is levied for the promotion of a 
public good, and is assessed equally upon all. 

Is then the existence of public worship a public good ? 
This is the first question to be answered. When men as- 
semble in a Christian country to join in public worship, 
they recognise the existence and moral government of the 
Deity. I shall not waste your time by attempting to 
prove, what will at once be granted, that a belief in these 
doctrines is essential to the security of society, and lies at 
the foundation of all our institutions ; and that a recogni- 
tion of these principles, at stated intervals, does much to 
impress them upon the mind. I wish to go farther. 
Public worship among us is an expression of belief in 
the Christian revelation 5 and I consider Christianity as 



ii 

"I 



SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 105 

a means of moral and intellectual improvement, as the 
great source of civilization and refinement, and of course 
as the principal branch of public education. It is one 
of the glories of Christianity, and, to my apprehension, 
one of the proofs of its divine origin j that it is always 
in advance of society. Go to the humblest CafFre or 
New-Zealander, who has scarcely intelligence enough to 
construct a rude habitation, or prepare for himself whole- 
some food, and Christianity has precepts and motives 
for him, which he can understand and feel ; and it has 
something, too, which elevates him above his former 
condition, which gives him new thoughts, new hopes, 
and urges him forward to higher attainments. Ascend 
from him through the several gradations of talent and 
knowledge, till you come to the strongest powers and 
the most unclouded intelligence, — to Locke and New- 
ton, and I can go no higher, — and Christianity is still 
beyond them. It has still something to tell of the na- 
ture and attributes of the Deity, of the moral character 
and future destiny of man, and of the past history of 
the human race, which even they have not discovered. 
When their minds were excited to the highest activity, 
and extended to the utmost stretch of their powers, 
Christianity still retained its original grandeur. They 
had risen above others, but they were still as far as 
ever from grasping it in its whole extent 5 as one who 
climbs a mountain finds the arch of heaven as broad 
and as grand, as when viewed from the humble valley 
from which he ascended. 

Nor is Christianity merely the source of intellectual 
advancement 5 it is equally the spring of moral and so- 



106 SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 

clal improvement. Who Is there among us, to whom 
it does not prescribe duties which we have not yet per- 
formed ? What benevolence is so active, as to have ex- 
plored all the avenues of Christian charity ? To Chris- 
tianity we are indebted for hospitals, asylums, retreats 
for the insane ; for free schools 5 for charitable societies. 
None of these were known before the promulgation of 
Christianity, or are found at present in heathen countries. 
To Christianity we owe the Bible Societies and Sunday 
Schools and Savings Banks of the present age. These 
were unknown in the last generation 5 and think you that 
we have already attained to Christian perfection? that 
there is nothing beyond us ? that no institutions can be 
founded, no associations be formed, no plan be devised 
for the further improvement of society ? Oh no ; — let 
every man, or even let a small body of men act out the 
Christian character in its full extent, and see. The time 
is coming, when the necessary progress of Christian in- 
telligence and benevolence will give rise to institutions 
and produce effects upon society, of which we cannot 
now conceive. Consider what has already been done. 
Our ancestors confined all their cares to the relief of bod- 
ily suffering. The first founder of a hospital probably 
thought that he had done every thing that could be done 
for the alleviation of human misery. It did not enter his 
mind that any thing could be done to prevent evil. Yet 
we have become familiar with free schools and savings 
banks ; which have already done more for society than 
all the hospitals that ever were endowed. 

After all, the only mode of producing permanent im- 
provement is by acting upon the mind. Relieve the 



SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 107 

wants of a iniserable man, and you do good, indeed ; 
but it is a transient good. He dies, and it is over. But 
impart one new thought, impress one new principle, and 
it continues for ever. It affects, in some way or other, 
his conversation or behaviour. He imparts it to those 
around him, he communicates it to his children, he be- 
comes the centre of a circle perpetually enlarging ; and the 
leaven has been insensibly diffused through society, when 
even its existence was scarcely suspected. In our esti- 
mation of human character and improvement, we ascribe 
too much to great events and splendid examples. Great 
events are always the consequence of a thousand little 
events that have previously occurred ; or are only the si- 
multaneous effect of a thousand litde events ; as the ex- 
plosion of a magazine is only the separate burning of mi- 
nute particles of powder. When a striking reformation 
is produced in society, it is not the reformer who effects 
it ; he is m.erely the instrument by which society reforms 
itself; the organ by which it collects, combines, and ex- 
presses the thoughts wliich have been floating for many 
years, in innumerable minds. At the commencement of 
our revolution, when the tea-ships arrived at Boston, the 
cry of liberty and resistance to oppression resounded 
from Massachusetts to Georgia. Think you the same ef- 
fects would have been produced in the West Indies or 
Ireland, if those ships had gone there ? No, indeed. 
Our revolution had been preparing for three centuries. 
It began with John Huss and Wickliffe 5 and every stur- 
dy independent who refused to wear a square cap and 
surplice at the command of a bishop, was hastening the 
progress of political independence among his followers 



108 SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 

and descendants. If such be the effect of public opinion, 
even the humblest of us may aspire to the glory of reform- 
ing the age. We may not indeed be the priests to apply 
the torch to the sacrifice, but we can at least lay the 
wood upon the altar. We can profess our attachment 
to Christianity, and we can each, in our respective circles, 
make a favorable impression of its character and influ- 
ence. 

But in what manner can Christianity be taugbt with 
such assurance of success, as by the regular continuance 
of public worship ? Would you leave it to the silent op- 
eration of the Bible? The Bible indeed, if diligently 
and understandingly read, can do every thing. But who 
shall select its appropriate parts ? who shall explain its 
difficulties, and bring home its sanctions? And who, 
amidst the cares, and conflicts , and passions of life, shall 
ensure its being generally read ? But all this is effected 
in a good degree in our churches ; a portion of the Scrip- 
tures is always read ; and whatever may be the sermon, 
yet in the reading and the prayers, some scriptural knowl- 
edge is communicated, and some devotional feelings ex- 
cited. It is perhaps not an unfrequent occurrence, that 
attention is arrested where none was intended to be 
given ; and that some, " who came to scoff, remain to 
pray." 

If, then, the support of public worship be for the pub- 
lic good (and in this I hope I have your entire acquies- 
cence), should this object be effected by a compulsory 
tax, or be left to voluntary contributions ? If mankind 
were perfect, or even approached perfection, we should 
say at once. By voluntary contributions. But have we 



SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 109 

chosen to intrust any of our political institutions to volun- 
tary contributions ? Do we leave our courts of justice, our 
prisons, and houses of correction, to be maintained by 
those who think it for the good of society that crimes 
should be punished? Do we leave our poor to the oper- 
ations of private benevolence ? Have we thought it safe 
to intrust our schools to the support of uncertain contri- 
butions ? Do we not, on the contrary, tax every man in 
society for the education of children ; because education 
is a great public blessing ? Do we not, in effect, oblige 
the rich to educate the children of the poor, by assess- 
ing the school-tax in proportion to the amount of their 
property f And do we not defend this, on the ground 
that they are interested in public morality in proportion 
to the amount of their property ? Carry then this prin- 
ciple to its necessary consequences, and my point is 
gained. The public worship of the Deity is a part of 
public education. A church is a school for men ; and 
a school of far more importance than those in which 
the elements of human learning are taught. 

I can imagine but one possible objection to such a tax ; 
it may be thought to infringe the rights of conscience. 
But is not conscience interested in the support of public 
morality? Are conscientious scruples to be admitted 
against the existence of a useful public institution ? 
But how is conscience at all affected by it? If the 
person who makes the objection belong to the major- 
ity, he acquiesces in the disposal of the money, and has 
no cause of complaint ; if, on the other hand, he belong 
to the minority, the money is applied without his consent, 
and his conscience is not violated by its disposal. He 
10 



110 SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. 

may indeed believe that the money was not so well ex- 
pended as it might have been, — a common subject of 
comjolaint in all public institutions ; but his conscience 
has no concern with it. It is for the majority^ who 
expend the money, to settle the matter with their con- 
sciences. They, and they alone, are accountable for its 
misuse. 

But the whole objection would proceed, it appears to 
me, from a narrow view of the tendency and effects of 
Christianity. It assumes, as a principle, not merely that 
there is but one form of Christianity which a man can 
personally profess, but that having made his choice among 
rival sects, he is bound in good conscience to wage unre- 
lenting war against all others. But such I apprehend is 
not the character of our religion. She is not found ex- 
♦ clusively in this conventicle, or in that cloister ; but she 
walks abroad through the earth, and mingles freely with 
men of every nation and of every profession. There is 
a redeeming spirit in Christianity, which renders it an 
unspeakable blessing, even in the most corrupt form in 
which it has ever yet appeared. It may be that its fol- 
lowers have enrolled themselves under different banners, 
and have acquired their discipline under leaders of vari- 
ous names ; but they are all marching under the standard 
of the Cross. 

But it may be said that religion is a personal concern 
between man and his Maker, and that human laws have 
nothing to do with its regulation. I grant it ; and there- 
fore no man should be compelled to worship contrary to 
the dictates of his own conscience. But supporting pub- 
lic worship by law, is not compelling any individual to 



SUPPORT OF PUBLIC RELIGIOUS WORSHIP. Ill 

join In it. Public schools are supported by law, but no 
man is compelled to send his children to them. If he pre- 
fer instruction of a different kind, or from other teachers 
than those whom the public provides, he procures it at 
his own expense. No man complains of this ; for every 
man is indirectly benefited by the education of his neigh- 
bour's children. But the analogy between schools and 
public worship is complete. They are both for the purpose 
of giving public instruction ; and if one cannot safely be 
left to voluntary contributions for its support, so neither 
can the other. 

If I have been at all successful in the preceding ar- 
gument, I have established the following propositions : 

That all property is justly liable to taxation for the 
common benefit ; 

That it is no violation of individual rights, to take pri- 
vate property for any object of public good, by laws which 
operate equally on all ; 

That the support of public worship under any form of 
Christianity is a public benefit ; 

That this cannot be obtained in any way so effectually, 
as by general and equal taxation ; 

And that the leaving tbis money to be apphed accord- 
ing to the will of a majority does not infringe the rights 
of conscience. 

Consequently, laws which compel a man to pay taxes 
for the support of public worship, and leave the applica- 
tion of the money to the will of the majority, are founded 
on sound principles. 



ON " OLD MORTALITY." 



" WHICH OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS HAS THE GREATEST MERIT, 
* OLD MORTALITY ' OR ' GUY MANNERINg' ? " 

It is now about ten years since " Waverley " first at- 
tracted the public attention. In this novel the characters 
were drawn with so much strength and precision, there 
was so much life and freshness in the portraits, the senti- 
ments were, in general, so accommodated to real life, 
that it gave at once a new direction to public taste. If 
" Waverley " alone had been written, it would have had a 
crowd of imitators, and its influence would have been 
traced in the succession of English novels. But followed, 
as it has been, by others of the same character, and com- 
ing, as they have, volume upon volume, scarcely leaving 
us time to discriminate the merits of one, before another 
of equal pretensions has demanded our admiration ; they 
have produced an impression on literature and taste, 
which cannot be measured, and can scarcely be conceiv- 
ed. As the Waverley novels have composed nearly half 
the literature of the last ten years, it may be that they 
have assumed in our minds a disproportionate magnitude ; 
as the lightning which incessantly flashes, appears to fill 



113 

the whole atmosphere with flame, though it dart only 
from a single cloud. Yet, after making every deduction, 
the Waverley novels must produce a great and lasting 
impression. They are universally read ; and what pleases 
the many, must be founded in the principles of our com- 
mon nature. I speak not of their moral impression ; that 
would of itself afford the subject of a dissertation. But 
thus much I am bound in conscience to declare, that 
greatly as I admire them as works of genius, I cannot 
admit, without great hesitation, their claims to a perfectly 
pure morality. Their beneficial effect upon society is 
indirect, operating through the taste and imagination. 
Vice is gross and sensual ; and whatever has a tendency 
to exalt the intellectual nature. Is indirectly favorable to 
virtue. It is, besides, the duty of every individual to cul- 
tivate all his mental powers ; and poetry and works of 
fiction, which are addressed to the imagination — the in- 
ventive power, as it has been aptly called, — become a 
necessary instrument of intellectual education. 

But whatever may be our judgment of the direct moral 
tendency of the Waverley novels, it is certain that novels 
will be read, and that we have none better than these. 
If not irreproachable, they are, with some exceptions, which 
I shall hereafter name, free from any very gross faults ; 
tried by the standard of a pure morality, they rise much 
above the great mass of English literature. Of their 
merit as works of genius, there is but one opinion. The 
author of " Waverley " has already taken his rank by 
the side of Shakspeare. He has become the great im- 
prover or corrupter of our taste ; and it is well worth the 
labor to inquire what effect his writings produce on our 
10* 



1J4 ON " OLD MORTALITY." 

minds, and hoiv that effect is produced. It is sufficient 
perhaps for the happiness of the moment, to be pleased, 
we know not why and care not wherefore. But if we 
aim at intellectual improvement, we must sometimes ex- 
amine the sources of our pleasure, and mark with some 
precision the subjects of our approbation. It is with this 
view, that the comparative merit of two of the Waverley 
novels has been selected for discussion this evening. It 
is manifestly impossible to dwell upon most of the topics 
which at once rush into the mind. We can, at best, 
present but a very imperfect sketch of some of the prin- 
cipal subjects of remark. Still something may be done 
to guide our judgment. 

The novels selected for comparison at the present 
time, are " Old Mortality " and " Guy Mannering." 
Why are we pleased with the one rather than with the 
other ? From the very nature of the question, it is ap- 
parent, that each of us must hope for victory, rather from 
the strength of his own cause than from the weakness of 
that of his opponent. It is my part to point out some of 
the peculiar merits of " Old Mortality " ; and I feel hap- 
py in knowing that this can be done, without derogating 
in the smallest degree from the just and high claims of 
" Guy Mannering." 

In claiming for " Old Mortality " a preeminence over 
the other works of this wonderful writer, I rest my opin- 
ion, first, on the character of John Balfour of Burley. 
It derogates nothing from the merit of the author, that 
the hint for this character was probably derived from 
those of Oliver Cromwell and John Knox. It undoubt- 
edly increases the interest of the work, as an historical 



ON " OLD MORTALITY." 115 

painting is viewed with more pleasure when the principal 
figures are recognised to be portraits. Balfour of Bur- 
ley is a powerful delineation of one of the most difficult 
characters that ever warmed the imagination of a poet. 
He was to be a patriot, yet in arms against his country- 
men. He was to be devout, yet steeped to the lips in 
human blood. He was to contend, to the last throb of 
life, for civil liberty and the purity of his little sectarian 
church, and yet was to make common cause with the 
Papists and the friends of the Stuarts. He was to be at 
once a fanatic and a crafty politician. He was to play 
off upon his followers the delusions of religious enthusi- 
asm, and to be at the same time the victim of his own 
heated imagination. He v^^as to esteem it a religious du- 
ty to repress the feelings of our common nature, and at 
the same time to feel the stings of remorse for performing 
that duty. In fine, he was to unite much practical kna- 
very with a state of much practical religious excitement. 
He was to be honest enough to impose upon himself, and 
knave enough to impose upon others. 

This brief sketch sufficiently shows the difficulty of 
the task. It required no ordinary talents to conceive such 
a character ; but the hand of a master alone, could have 
traced it out in all its proportions. There is nothing so 
difficult in fictitious writing as to mingle the shades of 
good and evil. The talent in Shakspeare which is most 
conspicuous, and in which he has been hitherto unrival- 
led, is the power of representing wisdom and folly, virtue 
and vice, coexisting in the same person, without neutral- 
izing their effects. We do not utterly despise FalstafF, 
though a coward, nor Prince Hal, though intemperate 



116 ON 

and dissolute. These base and vulgar traits are partly- 
redeemed by the honest wit of the one, and the magna- 
nimity of the other. In like manner, while we abhor the 
ferocious ambition of Richard, we cannot but feel respect 
for the inextinguishable energy of feeling, which led him, 
poor, deformed, and despised as he was, to grasp at a 
crown. 

It is in delineating these mixed characters, that great 
talents are discovered ; and none but great talents ever 
venture to grapple with them. A thousand Sir Charles 
Grandisons, in faultless and graceful perfection, may be 
found in the immeasurable mass of English novels. It is 
a mighty easy matter to make a graceful young man put 
his hand upon his heart and protest to Grandmama Shir- 
ley that Miss Byron is an angel, or to give him a velvet 
cloak and a white plume and send him forth to strut as 
Thaddeus of Warsaw or a Scottish Chief. In the great- 
er part of modern novels, when the hero has been named 
and clothed, the whole work of invention is exhausted. 
You understand at once, that he is to be very beautiful 
and very faukless, that he is to be deeply in love, and 
find it very hard to get married ; but you are very sure, 
somewhere about the end of the third volume, to find all 
difficulties overcome, all quarrels made up, and every 
body very good, very loving, and very happy. Thanks 
to Sir Walter Scott, much of this trash has already pass- 
ed into oblivion ; and if his novels continue to be read, 
the whole race of Miss Porter's and Miss Owenson's will 
cease to be heard of in the next generation. 

To understand the full strength of Balfour of Burley's 
character, it is necessary to consider a little the charac- 



ON 



117 



ter of the times in which he is supposed to have lived, 
and of the party which he espoused. From the first 
dawn of the Reformation, when enthusiasm began to take 
the place of superstition, a belief in direct miraculous in- 
spiration was more or less common ; the majority of the 
reformed made it an article of their belief, and men were 
taught to expect answers to their prayers, not in the gene- 
ral improvement of their virtue, but in the happening of 
the particular event which they desired. It was a natu- 
ral consequence from the admission of these principles, 
that the impulse of strong passions w^as mistaken for in- 
spiration, and that a warm imagination frequently con- 
verted an unexpected event into an apparent miracle. 
The early reformers were placed in circumstances of 
great difficulty. Much of their lives was passed in the 
tumults and terrors and intoxication of war. They were 
always banded together against an enemy ; and even 
their w^orship and their prayers partook of a military 
spirit. This spirit descended in its full strength upon the 
Puritans of England and the Cameronians of Scotland. 
Always a persecuted people, driven from their homes 
and firesides, and, like the early Christians, compelled to 
perform religious worship in the darkness of midnight, or 
in the remote solitude of mountains and caves, it is not 
wonderful that they indulged in a morbid excitement of 
feeling, and mingled the earthly passions of the warrior 
with the burnable piety of the saint. The Scriptures, then 
recently unlocked to the common people, and brought to 
them in their own language, possessed for them the charm 
of novelty, in a degree, which we, who have been fa- 
miliar with them from our cradles, can scarcely under- 



118 ON 

stand. The Bible was to them ahnost a new revelation 
just made from heaven. Every word was listened to 
with trembling eagerness. The strong conceptions and 
magnificent imaginations of the Prophets and the Apoca- 
lypse, were peculiarly suited to their character and cir- 
cumstances. They soon found or fancied an analogy 
between their circumstances and those of the people of 
Israel ; and from the habit of using the language of 
Scripture in common conversation, they soon learned to 
make a personal application to themselves, of the com- 
mands and threatenings and promises of the Old Testa- 
ment. 

Balfour of Burley is designed to represent an Indi- 
vidual of this class, with all the powers and all the pas- 
sions of his nature called into intense action. The pe- 
riod selected for his appearance was one in which all the 
elements of civil society were mingled. Rank and for- 
tune had lost much of their accustomed respect ; the 
teachers of religion no longer sought to dazzle the senses 
by the splendors of external worship, but were aiming by 
a wild and daring eloquence, an impetuous zeal, and an 
imposing severity of sentiment and manners, to acquire 
undisputed dominion of the heart. The two great par- 
ties which divided the nation, were forcibly contrasted 
with each other. On the one hand, a gay and thought- 
less race followed the fortunes and supported the cruel- 
ties of a profane, licentious, and oppressive court ; and 
on the other, a band of sturdy patriots contended at 
once for civil liberty, for pure morals, and an elevated 
faith. Balfour of Burley was the champion of the op- 
pressed party ; and, like Cromwell, he embodied in him- 



ON " OLD MORTALITY." 119 

self the high religious profession of some of his followers, 
and the warm political zeal of others ; while his fierce 
intolerance was derived rather from the narrow bigotry 
of Knox, than from the liberal policy of the Protector of 
England. 

In the management of this, his principal character, the 
author has finely contrasted his dark and powerful genius 
with the generous enthusiasm of Morton — himself en- 
gaged in the same cause, — and with the gentle manners 
and chivalrous loyalty of Evandale, almost a portrait of 
the real Falkland. On other occasions, too, the fierce 
and impetuous spirit of Barley, rushing into the hottest 
of the fight, and moving heaven and earth to compass his 
ends, is exhibited in opposition to the cool self-possession 
of Claverhouse, who never loses the refinement and pol- 
ish of a court, while he is pouring out blood like water. 

I have dwelt so long upon this masterly conception of 
Burley, that I shall have but litde time to devote to the 
subordinate actors in the story. Next to Burley, the 
best drawn character In the tale is undoubtedly Cuddle 
Headrigg. Inimitable Cuddie ! so faithful and true and 
simple ! From the days of Sancho Panza, the literature 
of Europe may be searched in vain for his equal. From 
his first appearance In disguise, at the Wappen-schaw of 
Clydesdale, when he professed that he " maun do his 
best, for Jenny Dennison is looking at us " — through all 
his adventures In battle, " those moving accidents by 
flood and field," when the same Jenny Dennison assailed 
his person with a kettle of hot broth — (" I ken weel that 
ye like your brose hei, Cuddie ") — down to that last mo- 
ment of exemplary matrimonial submission, when he 



120 ON 

murmured to Jenny, " And now I hae gotten a wife, and 
she 's like to take the guiding o' me a' thegilher " — there 
is the same honest devotion to the welfare of his master, 
the same implicit confidence in his judgment, the same 
indifference to the public events of the times, and the 
same simple and amusing selfishness, that distinguished 
the renowned squire of La Mancha. 

In our intercourse with mankind, we often find a great 
deal of shrewdnes and cunning, concealed under a very 
dull exterior. They whose minds are limited in their 
range, and whose attention has been directed to a very 
small number of objects cannot easily be excited to new 
pursuits, or be made to comprehend any new subject. 
Of course, when removed from their usual sphere of ac- 
tion, they appear to be torpid, and absolutely incapable 
of thought. Yet when any occasion arises that touches 
deeply their interests, and comes home to their former 
employment and domestic feelings, their natural sagacity 
returns, and appears to be intense in proportion to the 
limited extent of its operations. An amusing instance of 
this untaught sagacity and cunning, occurs in the scene 
at old Mihnvood's, when Bothwell puts the test of politi- 
cal and religious principle to the several members of the 
family. 

" Do you renounce the Covenant, good woman ? " ad- 
dressing himself to Cuddle's mother. 

"Whilk covenant is your honor meaning ? Is it the 
covenant of works or the covenant of grace ? " said Cud- 
die, interposing. 

" Any covenant, all covenants that ever were hatched," 
said the trooper. 



ON " OLD MORTALITY. 1^1 

" ' Mither,' cried Cuddie, affecting to speak as a deaf 
person, ' the gentleman wants to ken if ye will renunce 
the covenant of works ? ' 

" ' With a' my heart, Cuddie,' said Mause, * and 
pray that my feet may be delivered from the snare 
thereof.' " 

Among the pleasures of taste, there is none more open 
to observation, and none more frequently the subject of 
remark, than that arising from contrast. But it is not 
sufficient merely to bring together objects possessing dif- 
ferent or opposing qualities. They must have many re- 
lations of resemblance, as well as of opposition. In the 
delineation of character, as in landscape painting, while 
different colors are employed, they must blend with each 
other and harmonize as a whole. And herein is a distin- 
guishing excellence of the work under consideration. 
The characters are strongly and finely contrasted ; but 
though the different extremes of human passion and con- 
duct are described, tliere is no discrepancy in the whole. 
The master's hand passes rapidly from the highest to the 
lowest note, but there is no discord, no jar. In the roy- 
al army, Claverhouse and Evandale are equally brave 
and accomplished ; but the polished manners, and formal 
courtesy, and indifference to human Hfe, of the one, who, 
in the same breath, orders four prisoners to be taken from 
the room and shot, and his horse to be well taken care 
of, " for he is a little galled by the saddle," — are very 
idifferent from the strong feeling, simple manners, and 
generous temper of the other ; while both are distinguish- 
ed from the high breeding and relenting tenderness of 
Monmouth. And in the army of the Covenant, what fi- 
ll 



122 ON " OLD MORTALITY," 

ner contrast could be presented than the wild fanaticism 
and unsparing vengeance of Barley, with the generous 
forbearance and rational piety of Morton ! The preach- 
ers too, in the council of war, are all individuals, — pre- 
senting characters, and sustaining paris, as different as their 
respective names. Macbriar, and Poundtext, and Ket- 
tledrummle, are alike in their profession and in the gen- 
eral outlines of their characters, and yet as distinct as 
Major Bellenden and John Gudyill, or as Serjeant Both- 
weli and Tani Halliday. Edith Bellenden, unassuming, 
gende, and confiding ; and her aunt, vain, haughty, and 
proud of her birth ; — Jenny Dennison (the queen of cham- 
bermaids), artful, pert, and coquettish ; Janet Blane, sim- 
ple and bashful ; — Mause Headrigg, the victim of an 
overstrained imagination, presenting in her wild ravings 
the glowing thoughts and overwhelming emodons of a lof- 
ty but perverted understanding ; and the quiet resigna- 
tion and subdued spirit of Bessie Maclure, a sufferer in 
the same cause, — are all contrasted in a strong but mellow 
light. And what could be more happily imagined than 
the careless prodigality of Bothwell, who never left a 
tavern while his purse was heavy enough " to chuck over 
the signpost ; " and the inveterate parsimony of Milnwood, 
who expired, muttering to himself, that a '^ dipt candle 
would have given light enough to die by." 

I have thus far considered only the first conception 
and cast of the characters in this powerful work ; it may 
now be remarked, that the business in which they are en- 
gaged, the part they have to perform, is of a dignified or- 
der. The action of the story is a civil war which really oc- 
curred, and was carried on very much as is described in 



ON " OLD MORTALITY." 123 

the novel. It has therefore the dignity of historical rela- 
tion, and almost the charm of truth. In " Guy Manner- 
ing," on the contrary, the interest of the story turns upon 
an astrological prediction ; and disguise it as you will, the 
author has represented Colonel Mannering as possessed 
of superhuman knowledge. This detracts much from 
the interest as well as the dignity of the narrative. Once 
go into the region of fairy-land, and it is a comparatively 
easy matter to frame a plot, or extricate a hero from em- 
barrassment. But in " Old Mortality," nothing surpasses 
the limits of probability. Those who are familiar with 
the details of British history, from the middle of the six- 
teenth to the middle of the seventeenth century, may 
bring themselves to believe, without much difficulty, that 
every thing might have happened precisely as described 
by the novelist. Can the same bet affirmed of " Guy 
Mannering ? " 

The conduct of the story in " Old Mortality " is strictly 
regular, and open to very few objections. Burley, the 
master-spirit, appears early on the scene, and exerts from 
the first a commanding influence upon the fortunes of the 
whole. Every successive incident, however trifling in 
itself, is made to bear upon the main story, and contribute 
to the developement of the plot. Even the amusing dis- 
aster of Goose Gibbie at the Wappen-schaw was not a 
harmless frolic ; it led to the expulsion of Cuddie and 
his mother from the estate of Lady Margaret Bellenden, 
to their reception in the family of Milnwood, to the arrest 
of Henry Morton by Serjeant Bothwell, and, in its con- 
sequences, to the elevation of Morton to a command in 
the army of the Covenanters. In like manner, almost 



124 ON " OLD MORTALITY." 

every incident is made to carry on the action of the tale ; 
and in reviewing the whole story, it is difficult to say, what 
incident coidd have been spared without injury to the whole. 

But there are several scenes of such bold concep- 
tion, so eloquently and vividly painted, — scenes which 
make so deep and lasting an impression, and recur so 
often to the fancy, that 1 should certainly be unfaithful 
to my cause, if I did not at least suggest them to your 
remembrance. Who that has read it, can forget the des- 
perate encounter between Burley and Bothwell at the 
fight of Drumclog, when in the desperation and agony of 
a mortal conflict, horses repeatedly passed over them, as 
they grappled together on the ground, without unclench- 
ing their grasp ? Or who can forget the appearance of 
Burley in the stable at Milnwood, on the morning after 
Morton had sheltered him from the pursuit of his ene- 
mies, when in his sleep he appeared to be acting over 
again the murder of Sharpe, — his whole frame agitated 
with intense emotion, the drops of sweat upon his brow, 
his right hand clenched and making abortive efforts to 
strike, while his left was convulsively pushing away a 
suppliant from his knees ; — " Cling not to my knees ! — 
hew him down ! — put him out of pain, were it but for the 
sake of his grey hairs." 

Or that still more powerful scene in the cave, where 
Burley made his solitary and savage abode, after the final 
defeat of his party, and the disappointment of his hopes. 
His strong and athletic form, and his stern countenance, 
rendered more ferocious by tlH addition of a grizzly 
beard, and seen by the red light of a charcoal fire, while 
with a Bible in one hand and a drawn sword in the other. 



ON 



125 



he appeared to strive for life and death, with a mortal 
foe, — it is a picture which one ahuost shudders to con- 
ceive. But I will venture to say, that your blood has 
curdled in your veins, as you read of Burley's springing 
forward in his frenzy, and throwing down the narrow 
bridge, which gave the only means of access to his crag- 
gy cave, and as you heard it thundering and crashing in 
the abyss below. 

In the whole compass of English fiction, I do not know 
a scene of deeper or more intense interest, than that 
which occurred at the solitary farm-house, after the de- 
feat at Bothwell Bridge, when Morton found himself 
unexpectedly in the presence of ten .or twelve armed 
Cameronians, who, while " mourning for the desolation 
and captivity of the land, and searching out the causes of 
wrath and of defection," were disposed to ascribe their 
recent discomfiture to his Erastian principles. Their 
deep and gloomy silence, their dark brows, and stern 
demeanour, chill the blood in reading. — " ' You bend 
strange countenances on me, gendemen,' said Morton, 
addressing them. * Out upon thee ! out upon thee ! ' 
exclaimed Miicklewrath, stardng up. * We have prayed, 
and wresded, and petitioned, for an offering to atone the 
sins of the congregation ; and lo ! the very head of the 
offence is delivered into our hand. He hath burst in like 
a thief through the window ; he is a ram caught in the 
thicket, whose blood shall be a drink-offering, to redeem 
vengeance from the church. Up, then, and bind the 
victim with cords to the horns of the altar ! ' " — He was 
accordingly seized and bound, and after a short examina- 
tion, was sentenced to death ; but as the Sabbath had 
11* 



126 ON " OLD MORTALITY." 

not yet passed, his execution was delayed until the clock 
should strike twelve. He was then placed at the table, 
so as to be opposite the clock which was to sound his 
knell. The whole party placed themselves around him, 
preserving a dead and stern silence; while, ever and 
anon, dark and impatient looks were turned to the dial- 
plate, to catch the signal for his execution. The blood 
runs cold at the bare imagination of it. Let it come 
upon you when you are alone, in the night, or in that du- 
bious twilight, when the visions of fancy are imbodied 
and stand before you in the fulness and strength of real 
existence, and you will feel that the author has opened 
all the springs of pity and terror. 

But it is time for me to draw to a conclusion ; 1 had 
intended to speak of Habakkuk Mucklewrath, whose wild 
and impassioned address to the Covenanters, after the 
fight of Drumclog, might well be compared with the 
Sibylline denunciations of Meg Merrilies, and whose 
whole appearance and character is a splendid poetical 
conception. But I forbear. I will only trespass upon 
your time for a few remarks, which the mention of this 
character naturally excites. 

The two prevalent and kindred vices in the Waverley 
novels, are the abuse of Scripture language, and the 
frequent recurrence of profane expressions. I defend 
them in neither. But with regard to the first, which 
prevails more in " Old Mortality " than in the other 
tales, it should be remembered, that it was the fault of 
the times which the author described. In the debates 
of the Long Parliament, as frequent and revolting mis- 
applications of Scripture language were made, as in the 



ON *' OLD MORTALITY." I2ft 

novel of Scott. It is the common fault of fanatics, and 
occurs in all ages, and in all countries. We have 
known a preacher in our own neighbourhood, who, a 
few years ago, would not suffer his leg to be amputated, 
till he found a warrant for it in the Book of Psalms : 
" He delighteth not in the strength of the horse ; he taketh 
not pleasure in the legs of a maii.^^ As to the use of 
profane expressions, the common cursing and swearing, 
which, to the disgrace of the author, is found in all the 
Waverley novels, I cannot advert to it without strong 
indignation. It is mean, gross, vulgar, wicked. When 
I think of the splendid genius of Scott, his exquisite con- 
ception of character and manners, his delicate sense of 
beauty which seems to riot and revel among the scenes 
of nature ; and then remember his coarse profaneness, 
which appears to delight in gathering up and recording 
the wildest and most offensive forms of vulgar blasphe- 
my, — I can think of him only as the " Archangel ruined "; 

— " his form has lost 
All its original brightness." 

This most offensive vice occurs less frequently in " Old 
Mortality," than in " Guy Mannering." But in the " Pi- 
rate " it is shocking beyond expression. The author al- 
most deserves the fate of the Pirate he describes. But 
laying out of the question, at present, these vices, which 
are common to all the tales of this richly-gifted, but un- 
hallowed spirit ; and regarding his works merely as ob- 
jects of literary curiosity, I can claim for " Old Mortali- 
ty " preeminence, not only over " Guy Mannering," but 
almost over all the novels with which I am acquainted. 
The acdon, the narrative, the grouping and contrast of 



iBSf^ ON " OLD MORTALITY." 

characters, are not inferior, to say the least, to those in 
" Guy Mannering " ; while in the conception of Burley, 
the author has approached the sublimity of Milton, and 
in tracing out the features of his character, has attained 
the hfe, and animation, and natural grace of Shakspeare. 
I do not know the book, which is the object of such en- 
grossing and eager attention. " The charm which can- 
not pass away is there." Read it as often as you will, 
its lustre is undiminished. It produces the mental ex- 
citement which is always occasioned by the view of great 
powers, called into intense action ; and it kindles to a 
loftier temper, whatever zeal may be found for civil and 
religious liberty. 



DEFENCE OF THE CHARACTER OF 
OLIVER CROMWELL.^ 



" WAS THE ACCESSION OF OLIVER CROMWELL TO THE SOVEREIGN 
POWER IN ENGLAND JUSTIFIABLE ? " 

It has been the fortune of Oliver Cromwell to be the 
subject alike of the highest eulogies, and of the most bit- 
ter execrations. He is designated by the Anabaptists in 
their address to Prince Charles while in Flanders, as 
" that grand impostor, that loathsome hypocrite, that de- 
testable traitor, that prodigy of nature, that opprobrium 
of mankind, that landscape of iniquity, that sink of sin, 
and that compendium of baseness, who now calls himself 
our Protector." And even the grave and temperate 
Clarendon remarks, that *' no man with more wicked' 
ness ever attempted any thing, or brought to pass what 
he desired, more wickedly, — more in the face and con- 
tempt of religion and moral lionesty ; yet," he adds, 
" wickedness as great as his, could never have accom- 
plished those designs, without the assistance of a great 
spirit, an admirable circumspection and sagacity, and a 
most magnanimous resolution." 

* In reading this article, it is particularly necessary to bear in mind 
the note on page 68. 



130 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

On the other hand, hear his character by Dryden : 

"His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone ; 

For he was great, ere fortune made him so, 

And wars, like mists that rise against the sun, 

Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. 
Heaven in his portrait showed a workman's hand, 
And drew it perfect, yet without a shade." 

And Milton, in a higher strain of poetry : 

" Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 
Not of war only, but detractions rude, 
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed ; 

And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued ; 
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, 
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, 

And Worcester's laureate wreath." 

Nor was this only the language of poetry. In one of the 
most eloquent of his prose compositions, the Second De- 
fence of the People of England, Milton addresses this an- 
imated apostrophe to the Protector. *' Proceed then, O 
Cromwell ! and exhibit under every circumstance the 
same loftiness of mind ; for it becomes you, and is con- 
sistent with your greatness. The redeemer, as you are, 
of your country 5 the author, the guardian, the preserver 
of her liberty, you can assume no additional character 
more important, or more august ; since not only the ac- 
tions of our kings, but the fabled exploits of our heroes, are 
overcome by your achievements. Reverence then your- 
self ! and suffer not that hberty, for the attainment of which 
you have encountered so many perils, and have endured 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 131 

SO many hardships, to sustain any violation from your 
own hands, or any from those of others." 

Notwithstanding these contradictory opinions, — which, 
however, concur in admitting Cromwell to have been the 
greatest man of his age, — I hope to convince you that he 
was a wise and virtuous man, a sincere Christian, and a 
true patriot ; and that his assumption of the sovereign 
power wa^s not merely justifiable, but was strictly con- 
formable to his duty. I nmst beg you however to go 
back with me to the times in which he lived ; and to test 
his conduct by the opinions which then prevailed. It 
would be the highest injustice, to bring our present opin- 
ions of civil government as tbe standard of political mo- 
rality. If the accumulated light of two centuries were 
cast back upon the conduct and opinions of any statesman 
in Europe, they would wither under its brightness, as his 
ancient portrait would be consumed by the rays of the 
sun, if poured upon It through the medium of a burning- 
glass. Let CFX)mwell be tried by the opinions of his con- 
temporaries, or the conduct of those who preceded and 
followed him, and his character will remind you of one of 
those green spots we sometimes see in the present month 
on the sunny side of a hill, — if not verdant and bloom- 
ing, at least giving the hope of spring amidst the coldness, 
barrenness, and desolation of winter, and filhng the 
heart for a moment with vernal delight. 

Cromwell was forty-one years old, when he first became 
known to the public as a member of the Long Parliament. 
Whatever were the occupations of his early years, it is 
certain they were such as qualified him for the career he 
afterwards pursued ; for no man ever rose more rapidly 



132 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

in life, or sustained his elevation with a more firm and 
consistent dignity. Within one year after he entered 
Parliament, as an obscure Puritan of embarrassed for- 
tune and unpretending manners, he had acquired almost 
unlimited influence, and was the chosen confidant of those 
brave spirits, who were beginning to plan the deliverance 
of their country. As soon as it was resolved to raise for- 
ces for the public defence, Cromwell went down to his 
constituents in Cambridge, and raised a small company 
of horse, of which he received the command. He was 
then forty-two years old, and this was the first military 
effort of the man who proved himself the greatest soldier 
of the age, — of the man who, in twenty years of stren- 
uous war, never lost a batde. So great, indeed, were 
his military services, that, in less than tiiree months, the 
Parliament put under his control a regiment of one thou- 
sand horse ; and in two months from that time, he was 
Lieutenant General of the Cavalry. The decisive battle 
of Marston Moor, which turned the fortune of the war, 
and in effect established the Commonwealth, was won 
by him within five mouths from his first joining the army. 
The history of Europe will hardly present another ex- 
ample of so rapid a developement of military talents. In 
the course of the same year, he was placed at the head of 
the military forces of the Parliament, Sir Thomas Fair- 
fax having only the nominal command. 

If it be asked, by what means he attained this surprising 
elevation, I answer at once ; By personal merit ; not only 
by the value of his public services, but by the confidence 
inspired by his private character. No officer in the army 
faced danger with so much intrepidity, or more eagerly 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 133 

sought occasion to signalize his personal valor. Yet 
though he was always found in the hottest of the battle, 
he was uniformly calm, collected, and self-possessed. 
His soldiers, who were sometimes animated by his exam- 
ple to enterprises that bordered on rashness, learned at 
the same time to place implicit confidence in his judg- 
ment. His was the presiding mind, whose wisdom and 
energy were every where felt ; and it is not wonderful 
that his troops, who found themselves invincible under 
his command, should have regarded him as a second 
Phineas, raised up by the special providence of God for 
the overthrow of idolatry and tyranny. 

In analyzing a character, like that of Cromwell, we 
can generally seize upon a few prominent principles, 
which have evidently predominated through the whole 
course of life. One of the most remarkable characteris- 
tics of Cromwell, was his directness of purpose. On 
great emergences, an ordinary mind dares not look to the 
final issue of its actions ; it depends upon contingencies, 
and is carried forward by the force of circumstances ; it 
is glad to shelter itself under precedents, and fears to 
neglect any of the prescribed forms of proceeding. It 
reaches its purpose, as some birds do their nests, by ma- 
king circles round it. Or, as a fortified town used to be 
taken two centuries ago ; a trumpet must be sent to the 
gate to demand a surrender; then lines of circumvalla- 
tion must be drawn round the walls ; a trench must bt 
dug, and breastworks thrown up ; and, to use the signifi- 
cant phrase that was then current, the army must sit down 
before the town. It was a breach of military etiquette, 
to attack the citadel, till all the outworks had been car- 
12 



134 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

ried in form. But Cromwell, like the warriors of mod- 
ern times, went directly to his object, and thus not only 
attained his purpose more readily, but secured a reputa- 
tion for honest and fearless candor. While the Parlia- 
ment forces were perplexing their heads with the subtile 
distinction of fighting by the king's authority against his 
person, and of obeying His Majesty's command, as ex- 
pressed by both houses of Parliament, he told his troops 
plainly, that they were carrying on war against Charles 
Stuart, king of England, — and that for his part, if he met 
bim in battle, he should fire a pistol in his face, as readi- 
ly as in that of any other man. With this simplicity and 
directness of purpose, he possessed a talent which is too 
often united with characters of an opposite description ; I 
mean a profound knowledge of mankind, and a wonder- 
ful sagacity in detecting the true motives of conduct. 
All writers ascribe to him a penetrating judgment, and a 
discernment of character that seemed almost intuitive* 
" If there was a man in England," says Neal, "who ex- 
celled in any faculty or science, he was sure to find him 
out, and reward him according to his merits." 

There is another part of his character, upon which a 
greater diversity of opinion prevails, but which, I appre- 
hend, may be equally well settled by credible testimony, 
and that is his religion. When I consider the strictness 
of his private morals, the unblemished purity of his life, 
the regularity and fervor of his public and private devo- 
tions, his regard to the Sabbath, tlie strict moral disci- 
phne he maintained among his followers, both in the ar- 
my and at court, his zeal for the support of public wor- 
ship, and his patronage of good men of every denomina- 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 135 

tion, I cannot suffer myself to doubt for a moment, that 
these good fruits sprung from a principle of true piety. 
That Cromwell was an enthusiast, I readily grant, — and 
perhaps sometimes a fanatic. But he lived in an age of 
fanaticism. At a period when a large party existed 
among professed Christians who were daily expecting 
the personal appearance of the Saviour on earth, to as- 
sume the vacant sceptre of the Stuarts, and set up a fifth 
monarchy, which should endure for a thousand years, it is 
not incredible that even a strong mind, like Cromwell's, 
should be infected by the atmosphere in which he breath- 
ed. His very principles of piety might become the means 
of self-deception. Accustomed to refer all events to 
God, he might very easily be led to consider his un- 
paralleled success, not only as a proof of the special 
providence of God, but of his peculiar favor. And this 
appears to have been the fact. " An appeal to the sword," 
says one of his historians, " was an appeal to God -, and 
as victory inclined, God owned or discountenanced the 
cause." 

I have dwelt thus particularly upon the personal char- 
acter of Cromwell, because upon that, compared with 
the state of public affairs when he came forward in life, I 
rest much of his defence. 

To the descendants of the Puritans, I need say little of 
the struggle between Charles the First and his people. 
The transactions of that eventful period should be as fa- 
miliar to us as " household words." We owe every 
thing of civil and religious liberty to the successful ter- 
mination of that contest; and that contest commenced in 
the reign of Elizabeth, when the blood of the Puritans 



136 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

began to be poured out like water. They perished by 
hundreds, — not indeed on the scaffold or at the stake, as 
in the reign of her cruel sister ; but they starved or rot- 
ted in dungeons, or perished with their chidren by the 
way-side and hedges. Mary persecuted the Church of 
England, and therefore she is branded by English histo- 
rians as Uoody Mary ; but Elizabeth cherished the 
Church of England, and persecuted only the defenceless 
Puritans — and therefore she is described even by a grave 
judge, as "the mirror of justice, and the hfe of law" ; 
and above all, as " the queen of all roseate beauty." 
From the accession of Elizabeth to the death of Charles 
the First, the Puritans were the sole depositaries of the 
principles of civil and religious liberty. In solitudes, in 
imprisonment, in exile, they nourished the plants of free- 
dom with their tears, and enriched them at last with their 
blood. At length the moment arrived, in which it be- 
came their duty, for they had the power, to shake off the 
yoke of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny. 

That they made the effort, and succeeded, should be 
a matter of devout thankfulness to every one of ns ; for 
if arbitrary power and the dominion of the Pope had 
been established in England, the arm of the oppressor 
would have reached our fathers even in this distant land. 
Our m-ountains and forests would have been no refuge 
from the Star-chamber and Inquisition ; and if New Eng- 
land had been planted at all, it would have been peopled 
by a race of servile bigots, crouching under the lash of a 
foreign master, and turning pale at the frown of a foreign 
priest. 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 137 

After the death of Charles the First, in which Crom- 
well had no greater share than the other members of the 
court which sat in judgment on him, the sovereign au- 
thority was exercised by the Parliament, which consisted 
in fact of less than two thirds of the House of Commons 
only, and by an executive council of thirty-eight persons. 
This Parliament, which first voted the continuance of its 
own power, and then declared every person incapable of 
office or ti'ust who did not engage to support it, sustained 
itself in its usurpation nearly four years. But they were 
four years of dissension, strife, and bloodshed. The 
Presbyterians, who constituted a majority of Parliament, 
were secretly Royalists, and would gladly have reestab- 
lished the monarchy, if Presbyterianism had been made 
the established church. This fact will explain a remark, 
which was made, at that time, on their new coinage, and 
which deserves to be repeated. The Parliament order- 
ed the coin of the kingdom to be stamped anew, with 
the words " The Commonwealth of England " on one 
side, and the motto " God is with us " on the other ; 
which gave occasion to one of the preachers to remark, 
that God and the Commonwealth were not on the same 
side. 

Cromwell was at this time subduing Ireland, where the 
terror of his name (in the language of Neal) carried vic- 
tory on its wings. It is worthy of remark, that at this 
time, at the head of a victorious army, which was exas- 
perated even to madness against the Catholics, Cromwell 
sent a petition to Parliament, recommending the repeal 
of all penal laws in matters of religion, and a free tolera- 
tion of every sect. How much this was in advance of 
12* 



138 ' OLIVER CROMWELL. 

his age, appears from an anecdote related in the life of 
Richard Baxter. When that great and good man, after 
the restoration of Charles the Second, was pleading with 
the king for the toleration of the Presbyterians, Lord 
Clarendon remarked, that the king had received a simi- 
lar petition from the Baptists, and proposed a general 
declaration which should include several sects ; upon 
which Baxter replied with some warmth, " that His 
Majesty should distinguish the tolerable parties from the 
intolerable ; that for the former he craved lenity and fa- 
vor ; but that nobody could desire the toleration of Cath- 
oHcs and Unitarians, who were altogether intolerable." 

When Cromwell, in J 653, forcibly dissolved the Par- 
liament, it had entirely lost the confidence of the nation, 
and was regarded every where with contempt and de- 
rision. It probably could not have maintained its author- 
ity six months longer. The nation was again on the eve 
of anarchy and civil war. The Royalists, though sub- 
dued and silenced, were not disheartened. They were 
scattered every where through the kingdom ; and kept 
up a constant correspondence with Prince Charles, and 
with each other. The Presbyterians were, in principle, 
for the King and Covenant, and hated the Independents, 
both as Republicans and heretics. The Republican par- 
ty itself was composed of the most discordant materials. 
The Deists, under Algernon Sidney and Harrington, 
were desirous of establishing a commonweahh on the 
classical models of Greece and Rome. The Anabap- 
tists, and Fifth Monarchy men, expecting the immediate 
appearance of the Saviour on earth, regarded all human 
institutions in church and state as vain and nugatory ; 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 139 

while the Independents, with more rational views of civil 
and religious liberty, had no fixed plan of action, and 
but little political power. These three classes agreed in 
nothing, but in their abhorrence of tyranny and ecclesi- 
astical usurpation. Had Cromwell permitted a new Par- 
liament to be called, it would have contained a majority 
of Presbyterians and Cavaliers, and the civil war would 
have been at once renewed. Constituted as the English 
Parliament then was, it could not have been a fair repre- 
sentative of the wishes of the people ; and the plan of 
submitting a constitution of government to the decision 
of the people themselves, was the invention of later and 
happier times. What then was to be done ? The ves- 
sel was on a stormy ocean, driven about, the sport of the 
winds and waves, — no subordination among the crew, no 
skilful hand at the helm. The gale was even now rend- 
ing her canvass, and the billows making breaches over 
her side, when a skilful mariner sprung upon deck ; his 
voice restored order, his eye inspired hope and confi- 
dence, his hand seized the helm. The vessel rode out 
the gale ; and was soon pursuing a prosperous voyage. 
Was the conduct of this mariner justifiable ? or must he 
be hung for mutiny ? 

I will not compare the administration of Cromwell with 
that of his immediate predecessor ; for it may be said 
perhaps (though not with justice), that much of its suc- 
cess arose from the gradual progress of the nation, from 
the developement of its resources, and the greater divi- 
sion of light and knowledge ; yet there are points of con- 
ti-ast too striking to be omitted. In the reign of Charles 
the First, England held but a secondary rank among the 



140 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

nations of Europe ; Cromwell made her at once the head 
of the civilized world. In the first treaty which he signed 
with France, he claimed precedence of Louis the Four- 
teenth, and what is more extraordinary, that proud 
monarch was obliged to yield it. In his domestic ad- 
ministration, Cromwell had the same advantage of his 
predecessor. While Charles the First was the passive in- 
strument of those whom accident or caprice had placed 
around him, of the gay and profligate Buckingham, the 
choleric Laud, and the subtle Cottington ; Cromwell 
sought out and attached to his service the master-spirits 
of the age. Milton and Marvell and Thurloe were his 
secretaries ; Sir Matthew Hale, his chief justice ; May- 
nard, his counsellor ; Blake, his admiral ; Waller and 
Prynne, his leaders in the House of Commons ; Selden, 
Usher, and Walton, his theological advisers and friends. 

Soon after the death of Cromwell, England thus pros- 
perous and happy at home, illustrated by learning and 
the arts, and equally feared and respected abroad, was 
delivered into the hands of Charles the Second. " Neg- 
ligent of the interests of the nation, careless of its glory, 
averse to its religion, jealous of its liberty, lavish of its 
treasure, sparing only of its blood," he lost, one by one, 
all the advantages which the wisdom and energy of Crom- 
well had acquired. When he had squandered the trea- 
sures and alienated the afl:ections of his people, he be- 
came a mean pensioner upon the bounty of France ; 
and received a quarterly stipend from Louis the Four- 
teenth, to enable him to pursue his profligate pleasures. 

" When the legal constitution was restored," says Bish- 
op Kennet, himself a Royalist, " there returned with it a 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 141 

torrent of debauchery and wickedness. The times which 
followed the restoration were the reverse of those that 
preceded it ; for the laws which had been enacted against 
vice, for the last twenty years, being declared null, and 
the magistrates changed, men set no bounds to their licen- 
tiousness. A proclamation was indeed published against 
those loose and riotous Cavahers, whose loyalty consisted 
in drinking healths, and railing at those who would not 
revel with them ; but in reality the king was at the head 
of these disorders, being devoted to his pleasures, and 
having given himself up to an avowed course of lewd- 
ness. There were two play-houses erected in the neigh- 
bourhood of the court; the most lewd and indecent plays 
were brought on the stage 5 and the more indecent, the 
better was the king pleased, who graced every new play 
with his royal presence. From court the contagion 
spread like wild-fire among the people ; so that men 
threw oiF the very profession of virtue and piety." — But 
enough of this disgusting picture ; the profligacy of those 
times is but too well known. 

I rest then the justification of Oliver Cromwell, first, 
upon the anarchy which prevailed in England, when he 
first came forward in public life ; secondly, upon the ne- 
cessity of establishing a more efficient and liberal gov- 
ernment ; thirdly, upon his peculiar talents for the art of 
government, of which he could not have been uncon- 
scious ; fourthly, upon the impossibility of procuring a 
formal expression of the will of the people ; and lastly, 
upon the virtue and happiness of the people under his 
administration, and the disorders which immediately en- 
sued upon the restoration of the Stuarts. 



142 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

As it was not practicable to choose a free Parliament, 
nor fit to let the old one perpetuate itself, Cromwell 
had no other choice, than either to abandon the state, 
take the administration upon himself, or put it into 
the hands of some other person, who had no better title. 
That he judged wisely, and for the benefit of his country, 
in assuming it himself, no reader of history can doubt; 
and after having once interfered, there was no retreat 
for him. To use the strong expression of a writer of our 
own times, " having grasped the wolf of empire by the 
ears, he must hold him fast ; — to let him go, was to be 
instantly devoured himself." 

I cannot conclude, without presenting to your view 
two portraits, both drawn by disinterested contemporaries. 
"Cromwell's court," says Echard, "was regulated ac- 
cording to a most strict disipline, where every vice was 
banished, or severely punished. He maintained a con- 
stant appearance of piety, and was regular in his private 
and public devotions. He retired constantly every day 
to read the Scriptures and prayer ; and some, who watch- 
ed him narrowly, have reported, that after he had read 
and meditated a chapter, he prostrated himself with 
his face on the ground, and with tears poured out his 
soul to God, for a quarter of an hour. He was a strict 
observer of the Sabbath, and an encourager of goodness 
and austerity of life." 

The other is by the blameless Evelyn, who lived in 
the court of Charles the Second, like Abdiel among the 
fallen angels ; 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 143 

" faithful found 
Among the faithless, faithful only he ; 
Among innumerable false, unmoved, 
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified. 
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal." 

'' I can never forget," says he, in his Diary, on the 
day of the accession of James the Second, " the inex- 
pressible luxury and profaneness, gaming and all disso- 
luteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God (it 
being Sunday evening), which, this day se'nnight 1 was 
witness of; the king sitting and toying with his concu- 
bines, Portsmonthj Cleaveland, and Mazarine, &:c. ; a 
French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery ; 
whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dis- 
solute persons were at Basset round a large table — a 
bank of at least £2,000 in gold before them — upon 
which, two gentlemen, who were with me, made reflec- 
tions with astonishment. Six days after was all in the 
dust ! " 

" Thrones fall and dynasties are changed : 
Empires decay and sink 
Beneath their own unwieldy weight : 
Dominion passeth like a cloud away. 
The imperishable mind 
Survives all meaner things ! " 

Who, now, would not have been Oliver Cromwell, rath- 
er than Charles the Second. 



PAPERS 

ON 

SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH POLITICAL ECONOMY, 
POLITICAL SCIENCE, AND LEGISLATION. 

FIRST PUBLISHED IN " THE PORTSMOUTH JOURNAL." 



13 



1 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 



No. I. 

In the science of Political Economy, there are no er- 
rors so inveterate as those relating to foreign commerce. 
It is but a few years since it was the fashion to regard 
the books of the custom-house as the only standard by 
which the prosperity of the nation could be measured. 
If the imports exceeded the exports, it was said that the 
balance of trade was against us ; that we were running in 
debt to foreign nations, and that poverty and ruin were 
overtaking us. As the balance of trade, in this sense, 
has always been against the United States, it would seem 
to be difficult to reconcile our acknowledged prosperity 
with the correctness of the principle. But though better 
opinions begin to prevail, they are not universally receiv- 
ed. We still hear predictions of ruin, because our im- 
ports are greater than our exports. It may be worth 
while to examine the reasons for this apprehension. 

In the case of an individual, nothing can be plainer 
than that his imports should exceed his exports. How 
can a man become rich, but by receiving more than he 



14S BALANCE OF TRADE. 

parts with ? It is the same with a nation. If the United 
States, by exporting sixty millions annually, can import 
sixty-four millions, it is apparent that nearly the whole 
difference has been profit. 

The error has arisen from estimating the value both of 
imports and exports at our own custom-house, instead of 
estimating their value in the foreign country where the 
exchange is actually made. An inquirer learns at the 
custom-house that sixty-four millions have been received, 
and that only sixty millions have been sent to pay for it ; 
and he naturally asks how the difference is to be sup- 
plied. If he is not acquainted with the course of trade, 
he naturally supposes that a debt of four millions has 
been incurred ; and he shudders at the thought of having 
all the gold and silver drawn from the United States to 
pay It. 

Yet a slight attention to the course of domestic trade 
would show him that his apprehensions were groundless. 
In some of our distant settlements, corn is fifty cents a 
bushel, and salt is one hundred. If a farmer, from one 
of these settlements, were to come to market with thirty 
bushels of corn, he might sell it for sufficient to purchase 
thirty-seven bushels of salt. If the value of these arti- 
cles is to be estimated at his own door, he has exported 
fifteen dollars, and imported thirty-seven dollars. But 
unless the expenses of his journey have exceeded twenty- 
two dollars, he has made a profit by the exchange. Now 
the custum-house returns give just as correct a view of 
the trade of the nation, as an account kept at a farmer's 
door of his out-goings and in-comings would give of the 
state of his business. These returns are valuable and 
necessary — but for a very different purpose. 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 149 

The great fallacy of arguments drawn from the cus- 
tom-house returns, will be apparent from considering only 
one branch of the trade of this town, namely, the freight- 
ing business. In the course of the last year, we have 
had twenty-seven ships and twelve brigs employed in 
this trade ; several of which have made two voyages. 
It will therefore be perfectly within the truth, to make a 
calculation upon forty voyages in the year. These ves- 
sels generally took with them hay and lumber sufficient 
to pay their port charges in the Southern States, say one 
thousand dollars each, or forty thousand dollars for the 
year. They receive, upon an average, one thousand 
pounds sterling each, in Europe, or one hundred and 
seventy-seven thousand six hundred dollars. Deducting 
from this sum, their port charges in Europe,, there are 
brought home in salt and iron, or left behind to be 
brought home by others, one hundred and fifty thousand 
dollars. The whole of this sum appears on the books of 
the custom-house as imports, without one cent of exports 
to balance it. But, as from this sum the merchant keeps 
his ship in repair, pays his seamen, and purchases the 
outfits of the voyage, it consists of interest and reimburse- 
ment of capital, wages of labor, and profit ; in the same 
manner as the price, which the manufacturer receives 
for a piece of broadcloth, consists of interest and reim- 
bursement of capital, wages of labor, and profit. 

A merchant, sending his ship to sea, must charge 
against his voyage not only the first cost of his cargo, but 
all the outfits, provisions, and wages advanced to the sea- 
men ; his own or agent's services, and the premium of 
msurance. On the return of the vessel, he must again 
13* 



150 BALANCE OF TRADE. 

charge the adventure with the seamen's wages, and all 
the expenses attending the landing and sale of the goods. 
In order to know, then, whetlier the balance of trade is 
for or against the country, the imports of the merchant 
must be placed against all these charges, and if they ex- 
ceed the aggregate amount, we may conclude that his 
business can be continued with profit to himself and bene- 
fit to the country. The exports of this part of the coun- 
try are bulky and of small value, in many cases not con- 
stituting one half the consideration that produces the 
imports ; yet this is all that appears on the books of the 
custom-house. 

Another error, still more inveterate, is the opinion that 
the exportation of specie is injurious to the country. 
Almost the whole of our specie currency is Spanish coin. 
We received it in foreign ports in exchange for the pro- 
ducts of our labor. It was received and brought home, 
because it was more advantageous at the time to receive 
it, than to barter our merchandise for that of the foreign 
country. We export it for the same reason ; because it 
is more advantageous at the time, to m.ake our purchases 
with it, than to send merchandise to be bartered. Ap- 
ply the principle once more to an individual. He be- 
comes richer or poorer, by the terms of the contracts he 
makes ; not by the mere fact of bartering, or of buying 
and selling for money. If he sells to A for money, and 
employs that money to purchase of B, he is not necessa- 
rily poorer than if he exchanged his merchandise, at 
once, with B. If it would be profitable to the United 
States to export the products of agricultural industry, — 
grain, provisions, and lumber, — to the East Indies and 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 151 

China, and there to exchange them for sugars«and teas, it 
does not necessarily follow that the trade is ruinous, be- 
cause the merchandise is sent to the West Indies, there 
exchanged for dollars, and the dollars are afterwards sent 
to China. The only difference is the expense of the 
intermediate voyage, which may or may not be repaid 
by the profit of the first adventure, or by that of the 
final shipment. 

Principles are best tried by familiar examples. A 
hatter, who pays his shoemaker with money, is an ex- 
porter of specie. He must previously have imported it 
by the sale of hats. Whether he gains or loses by the 
mode of payment, depends upon the fact of his getting 
better shoes or not, by paying in money instead of pay- 
ing in hats. If he gains by purchasing with money, he 
will generally be anxious to sell for money, that he may 
employ it in his purchases. That is, he will import spe- 
cie, that he may afterwards export it. The case is pre- 
cisely the same with a nation. If money is not ex- 
ported, it is perfectly certain it will not be imported. 
In this, as in every thing else, it is the demand that 
produces the supply. 

Again ; the quantity of money in a country is no cer- 
tain mark of its prosperity. We do not estimate the 
wealth of an individual by the number of silver dollars 
actually in his pocket, but by the command he possesses 
over the products of labor. In like manner the wealth 
of a nation does not consist in its circulating medium, but 
in that which the circulating medium represents — the 
products of labor. If all the precious metals in England 
were at once destroyed, she would still be a wealth v na- 



152 BALANCE OF TRADE. 

tion ; for she would still possess her fertile soil, her roads 
and canals and bridges, her buildings and manufactories, 
her ships and merchandise. So far from the quantity of 
money being the standard of wealth, it is found that 
money is always scarce in enterprising and thriving com- 
munities when it can be profitably employed ; and is al- 
ways plenty, when, from any cause, it will not pay the 
usual rate of interest. • 

We should feel almost ashamed of stating anew and 
defending such plain principles, if every week did not 
bring us papers, in which they are misunderstood or per- 
verted. 

Jan. 18, 1823. 



No. II. 

The remarks, which we made in the Journal a few 
weeks ago, on the balance of trade, have had the fortune 
to attract some attention in different parts of the Union. 
In general, they appear to have produced conviction ; 
though we claim for them no other merit than that of 
stating plain principles in plain language, a As the subject 
is important, and as several answers to our arguments 
have been attempted, we shall be pardoned for offering a 
few additional remarks. 

What is called the balance of trade is the difference 
between the value of the imports and exports of a coun- 
try. We attempted to show, that when the balance of 
trade is said to be against the country, that is, when she 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 1 53 

imports more than she exports, so far from its being a sign 
of decay and ruin, it is rather a mark of prosperity. 
When a fisherman carries out with him fifty hogsheads 
of salt, worth two hundred dollars, and brings home four 
hundred and fifty quintals of fish, worth eleven hundred 
dollars, he would smile to hear us say that he was ruin- 
ing either himself or his country. He would reply, that 
he had made a profitable voyage ; — his imports exceeded 
his exports. When a farmer goes to market with a load of 
pork, which cost him fifty dollars to raise, and returns 
with a load of salt and iron worth seventy-five dollars, 
which he has purchased with the proceeds, besides pay- 
ing his expenses, he would wonder a little at that politi- 
cal arithmetic, which would teach him that he had made 
a losing journey. 

The principal difficulty attending this subject has aris- 
en from the high rate of exchange. It has been said, 
that when merchants have to give, for many successive 
months, ten or twelve per cent, advance for bills of ex- 
change, it is conclusive evidence that the country is get- 
ting in debt ; that there are not goods enough sent to 
Europe to pay for those which we bring home, and of 
course that a high rate of interest is paid for money there. 
We hope to show, by a plain example, that the whole of 
this reasoning is fallacious. 

Exchange, in its technical sense, is the sum given in 
one country for the transfer of a debt due in another. 
When the price given is the same sum as that which is 
to be received, exchange is said to be at par ; when it 
is more than that which is to be received, exchange is in 
advance, or at a premium. Now, as the design of the 



154 BALANCE OF TRADE. 

purchaser of exchange is to employ the money in the 
foreign country, where the debt is due, it is obvious that 
he will never give more advance for exchange, than the 
sum it would cost him to transport specie to the same 
place. That is, exchange can never be higher than the 
freight, insurance, and commission charged upon the 
transportation of money. For why should A give B ten 
per cent, for one hundred dollars, payable in England, 
when he can send one hundred silver dollars to England 
for about one and a half per cent. ? 

But it may be said that exchange is at present actual- 
ly at ten per cent, advance ; and yet there are dollars in 
the country ! The apparent difficulty may be removed 
by a single example. 

A owes a debt in England of four hundred and eighty- 
two dollars, which he wishes to pay. He purchases of B a 
bill of exchange for one hundred pounds sterling, for 
which he gives a premium of ten per cent. When he 
remits it, his account stands thus : 

£100 sterHng, at par, or J4,44 $444 44 

10 per cent, advance 44 44 



$488 88 

He therefore has paid here four hundred and eighty-eight^ 
dollars and eighty-eight cents for one hundred pounds 
sterling in London. Now what is the value of this one 
hundred pounds in London? How much of his debt 
will be paid by it ? 

By the last advices dollars w^ere worth, in England, 
45. Id. Iq. per oz. or 4^. Id. Sq. apiece. A therefore 
receives, in England, four hundred and eighty-two dol- 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 155 

lars and forty-one cents, in the place of four hundred 
and eighty-eight dollars and eighty-eight cents paid here. 
He has really given then only six dollars and forty-seven 
cents, or one per cent, and forty-one hundredths for ex- 
change, instead of ten per cent. 

Now what would have heen the result, if he had ship- 
ped specie, instead of buying a bill of exchange ? He 
owes four hundred and eighty-two dollars in England; 
he would therefore ship that sum : 

$482 00 ' 

Premium given here for Spanish dollars, 

1 per cent 4 82 

Freight, half per cent 2 41 

Insurance, one per cent 4 82 

$494 05 

It would have cost him, then, twelve dollars and five 
cents, or more than two and a half per cent, to ship spe- 
cie. Even if we deduct the premium given for dollars, 
there will remain seven dollars and twenty-three cents, or 
one and a half ^qx cent., as the cost of remittance 5 or 
nine cents in the hundred dollars more than the price of 
exchange. Bills of exchange, therefore, are, at this mo- 
ment, sold for less than their true value ! And if they 
are any criterion of the state of the trade, England is in 
debt to the United States, instead of the United States 
being in debt to England. 

This result will doubtless surprise those, who consider 
the rate of exchange as a sure standard by which to 
ascertain the balance of trade. But we have other facts 
equally conclusive. For many years past, exchange has 



156 BALANCE OF TRAUE. 

been from fifteen to twenty per cent, in favor of England 
and Spain, and from eight to twelve per cent, in favor of 
the United States, against the island of Cuba. Is that 
island, with all its great and valuable exports, on the 
verge of ruin ? Is she getting in debt from ten to twenty 
per cent, a year to Spain, to England, to the United 
States ? We believe there will scarcely be found an ad- 
vocate for the old doctrine of the balance of trade, that 
will venture to assert it. 

The truth is, the rate of exchange with any particu- 
lar country depends more upon the actual valuation of 
money, than upon any supposed balance of trade. In 
the United States, dollars have, by law, a fixed value. 
In England, the price of them fluctuates like that of 
any other article of commerce. If instead of being 
worth in England, as they now are, only 45. Id. 2q. 
each, they should rise, as in 1816, to 4s. Id., it iij^^vi- 
dent that four hundred and forty-four dollars here would 
again purchase one hundred pounds sterling in England, 
But would such a rise in the value of dollars alter the 
balance of trade ? Would it make our imports less or 
exports greater ? Would it be, in itself, any evidence 
that this country was more or less indebted to England } 

In Cuba, doubloons pass for seventeen dollars ; while 
here they are w^orth but fifteen. Spanish dollars are 
therefore always worth in Cuba from six to eight per 
cent, advance, when payment is made in doubloons. 
This single fact shows the whole operation of the prin- 
ciple. Bills on the United States are always above par, 
because dollars can be obtained for them ; and because 
dollars, when obtained, can be sold above par for doub- 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 157 

loons. The whole difference in the rate of exchange, 
therefore, arises from the fact, that the nominal price 
of commodities is regulated there by doubloons, and 
here by dollars. As soon as doubloons are directly ex- 
changed for dollars, an advance is put upon dollars, and 
the difference vanishes. In like manner, the whole dif- 
ference in the rate of exchange between this country and 
England arises from the difference of the legal standard 
of money. The price of commodities here is fixed by 
dollars ; in England, by pounds sterling — representing 
guineas. When dollars are exchanged for dollars, as we 
have already shown, the difference is in our favor. 

We have prepared an answer to the remarks on our 
former argument made in the New York Statesman, and 
the Providence Journal ; but as we have already exceed- 
ed our limits, we must defer its publication to some fu- 
ture occasion. 

Feb. 22, 1823. 



No. III. 

We find the following letter in the last New York 
Statesman. It is a good omen, for an opponent to begin 
to lose his temper. 

" to the great ' oracle ' at portsmouth. 
"Sir, 
" You have already told the people with becoming dignity, 
what every body admits, that if a man, who has exported one 
barrel of flour which has cost eight and will sell for ten dollars, 
has received any commodity in return for that flour of the value 
14 



158 BALANCE OF TRADE. 

of fifty dollars, his profit is forty-two dollars, and that he and 
the country are becoming rich. 

" Be so good as to throw some light on the following ques- 
tion. — If a man export a barrel of flour, for which he has paid 
eight and which will yield ten dollars, and also export thirty- 
eight dollars in silver, for which commodities he receives in re- 
turn fifty dollars' worth of foreign fabrics, pray, my dear Oracle, 
what are the profits of his adventure to himself and to the 
country ? An Observer. 

" The above query is induced by the perpetual repetition that 
the excess of importation is so much clear gain, whereas, it is 
dearly paid for by our precious metals, stocks, public secu- 
rity, &c." 

If we understand the question above proposed, it is a 
very simple one, and admits of a ready answer. The 
exporter has parted with forty-six dollars, and has re- 
ceived fifty. His gross profit therefore is four dollars. 
The amount of his neat profit depends upon circum- 
stances not stated in the question. If we suppose th( 
voyage to be made to England, the charges will be abou 
three per cent, upon the dollars, for freight and insurance 
equal to #11' 

and upon the flour, for freight and insurance, 1 0,' 



^2 1 

leaving one dollar and eighty-four cents as neat profit i 
the shipper. If we suppose the shipment to have been 
made in an American vessel, the ship-owner has received 
one dollar and sixty-six cents for freight ; and the whole 
profit to the country has been three dollars and ffty 
cents, the remaining fifty cents being the compensation 
for the risk incurred in the transportation. 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 159 

We never asserted, and have never heard it asserted, 
that the whole excess of importation is " clear gain»^ 
We only contended that the whole excess of importation 
was not clear loss ; — an assertion that will be found every 
week in one half of the newspapers in the United States. 

But from an ex{)ression in the last paragraph of the 
New York writer, it is apparent that his difficulty does 
not arise wholly from misapprehension of our argument. 
The cause lies deeper. Like many of our good citizens 
who attempt to reason upon the subject, he seems pos- 
sessed with a superstitious reverence for gold and silver. 
" The excess of importation," he says, " is dearly paid 
for by our precious metals," &ic. How came we to have 
the precious metals ? Or, to take his own example, how 
came the flour-merchant to have thirty-eight silver dollars, 
as well as a barrel of flour, to send to England to exchange 
for hardware and broadcloth ? Certainly, by having sold 
Dther barrels of flour, for silver. And what diflference 
ioes it make to the country, whether he exchanges his 
lour directly with an Englishman for cutlery ; or whether 
le first exchanges it with a Spaniard for silver, and then 
xchanges the silver with the Englishman ? 

All trade is effected by barter ; and where there is no 
T -aud, it is an exchange of equal values. The fair pro- 
ts of trade arise from the additional value which a man 
is able to give to his merchandise. The merchant in 
Charleston, who sends a bale of cotton to Providence, 
confers upon it, by its transportation, an additional value. 
It is worth more at Providence than at Charleston ; and 
is therefore bartered for a greater quantity of merchan- 
dise, — whether that merchandise be checks and ging- 



160 BALANCE OF TRADE. 

hams, or ounces of silver. The only reason that the 
price of silver and gold does not vary as much as that of 
cotton, is, that being more durable in their nature they 
are not affected by crops and seasons, and being easy of 
transportation, it is not possible to give them a great ad- 
ditional value by carrying them from one country to 
another. Their price is therefore settled by an average 
of the demand of all nations, that have a commercial in- 
tercourse with one another. 

Much of the confusion on this subject has arisen from 
the attempt made by every nation to settle the relative 
value of its coins. When Congress enacted that every 
dollar should contain four hundred and sixteen grains of 
silver, and every cent two hundred and eight grains of 
copper, and that one hundred cents should be equal to 
a dollar, it fixed the relative value of silver to copper as 
fifty to one. They might as well have enacted that one 
pound of pig iron should always be w^orth two cents and 
no more, in every part of the country. A Spanish milled 
dollar has not unfrequently been exchanged for one hun- 
dred and six cents ; and yet the statute declares that one 
hundred cents are just equal to a dollar. On the other 
hand, when there has been a want of small coin, we have 
known a silver dollar exchanged for ninety-seven cents, — 
the act of Congress notwithstanding. Whenever there is 
a demand for merchantable silver — such as Spanish dol- 
lars for the East India market, — the price, compared with 
that of gold and copper, rises ; when there is no such 
demand, the price falls. When merchantable silver can 
be profitably exchanged for foreign commodities, as in 
the East Indies and China, dollars are exported ; when 



BALANCE OF TRADE. 161 

merchandise of other kinds can be profitably exchanged 
for silver, as in the West Indies, dollars are imported. 
Just as wheat is sometimes carried from New York to 
Liverpool ; and sometimes brought from Liverpool to 
New York. 

The quantity of gold and silver in a country is no more 
a standard of its wealth, than the quantity of iron or 
wood. So far as it has exchangeable value, it constitutes 
a part of the national wealth, but no more. A merchant 
does not reckon his property by the number of dollars in 
his drawer. On the contrary, as soon as he receives 
money, he endeavours to part with it, by laying it out in 
the purchase of other merchandise. He cannot add suf- 
ficient value to silver dollars, to make a profit by keeping 
them. A farmer who exchanges his only dollar with a 
neighbour for a load of manure, has not become poorer 
by the exchange, — though he has " exported all his pre- 
cious metals." We should think the neighbour who sold 
his manure for money much nearer to ruin. The pur- 
chaser, by a judicious use of the manure may add to its 
value, and insure a large profit at harvest ; while the sel- 
ler, if he did not himself export his dollar could add 
nothing to its value, and in autunm would have only the 
consolation of having " kept his precious metals at homey 

With regard to the transfer of stock and public secu- 
rities to England, so pathetically alluded to by the writer 
in the Statesman, a very satisfactory account can be given. 
It is well known that money can be borrowed in England 
at four per cent, upon a pledge of United States Stock. 
If then, capital can be advantageously employed in this 
country, it is certainly desirable that the greater part of 
14* 



162 BALANCE OF TRADE. 

our public debt should be transferred to England, upon 
such terms. We have in this neighbourhood a very ex- 
tensive manufactory, — the one at Dover, so well de- 
scribed by the Editor of the Statesman last summer ; and 
we have another just commenced at Somersworth, which 
will be of nearly equal importance. If the proprietors 
of these establishments should happen to be owners of 
pubhc stock to the amount of one hundred thousand 
dollars, and should want to expend that sum in their 
manufactories, it would surely be better for them to bor- 
row it in England, than to sell their stock here. It could 
not certainly be a very ruinous transaction for themselves 
or the country, if they enjoyed the use of the money, and 
received for interest two thousand dollars a year more 
than they paid. 

The great fall in the price of exchange during the last 
fortnight illustrates very strongly the remarks upon ex- 
change, which we offered a few weeks ago. But we 
have already exceeded our limits, and fear that we have 
trespassed too much upon the patience of our readers. 
At some future time, we shall resume the subject, 

March 22, 1823. 



RATE OF INTEREST. 



During the present session of the New York legisla- 
ture, a committee was appointed by the Senate to con- 
sider the expediency of reducing the rate of interest, 
which in that state is seven per cent. In the report of 
the committee, which was made on the 8th of March, 
the right of the legislature to fix the standard of interest 
is defended by the example of all civilized nations, and 
the expediency of a reduction is inferred from the exis- 
ting state of trade. It is to be regretted that the commit- 
tee did not take a wider view of the subject, and exam- 
ine the principle upon which the right of establishing a 
standard of interest is founded ; for we apprehend that 
some erroneous opinions respecting it are very generally 
entertained. 

When a man receives a loan from his neighbour, a 
portion of the aggregate capital of the community is 
transferred to him ; he borrows, in fact, not money, but 
capital. Take an example, which, at first view, would 
seem inconsistent with this assertion, the loan of money 
by a bank on accommodation paper. The borrower 
pledges the credit of two or three of his friends, who 
promise for him that five hundred dollars shall be re- 



164 RATE OF INTEREST. 

turned to the bank in sixty days ; and on the faith of this 
promise he receives certain pieces of paper, which may 
at any time be exchanged for five hundred ounces of sil- 
ver. This convertibility of paper into silver, makes the 
paper as useful to him as silver would be, and as ef- 
fective for all the purposes of trade. But in fact he 
wishes for neither paper nor silver. His object in mak- 
ing the loan is to enable him to purchase one hundred 
barrels of flour, and he would be as well satisfied, to re- 
ceive the one hundred barrels of flour from the bank, 
without the intervention of paper, or silver, at all. la 
receiving bank bills, or specie, from the bank, he simply 
receives a ticket entitling him to a certain quantity of the 
aggregate capital of the community. It is like receiving 
the key of a store, containing the goods which he wishes 
to possess. The money is merely the instrument of 
transfer. It is not, in itself, the subject of the loan, any 
more than the key of the store would be. 

Capital consists of positive value vested in some ma- 
terial object ; and the aggregate capital of the commu- 
nity is of course the sum of all the values possessed by 
every individual, whatever the object may be in which 
these values are vested, whether houses, lands, mer- 
chandise, or furniture. When a man parts with the pos- 
session of capital for a limited time, he is entitled to an 
equitable compensation for the use of it, and this 
compensation is properly denominated rent. If the 
capital parted with be a specific object, the rent is usu- 
ally settled by a specific contract. Thus houses are rent- 
ed, and books loaned from a circulating library, and hors- 
es let to hire from a livery stable, for a certain sum pre- 



RATE OF INTEREST. 165 

viously agreed on. In all these cases, the sum to be paid 
is adjusted by mutual convenience. But when the cap- 
ital transferred is not a specific object, but only a portion 
of the aggregate property of the community, there seems 
to be no reason why the rent should not be in like man- 
ner adjusted by the mutual convenience of the borrower 
and lender. It is as unreasonable to fix by law the rent 
of merchandise, as the rent of a farm ; for the merchan- 
dise and the farm are equally capital, that is, vested val- 
ues, parted with for a limited time. As money is merely 
the measure of these values, it is as absurd to talk of the 
interest of money, as of the interest of a yard-stick. The 
one measures the value, precisely as the other measures 
the quantity. 

Interest is composed of the rent of capital and of the 
price of insurance against the hazard of losing it. The 
risk of losing it depends upon the manner in which it is 
to be employed, and upon the personal character of the 
borrower. But the rent of capital is subject to constant 
fluctuations, and the price of insurance must vary in ev- 
ery successive contract. How then is it possible to fix 
by law an equitable standard of interest ? And upon 
what principles can the right of the legislature to fix the 
rent of floating capital and the premium of insurance 
against bad debts, be defended, which would not equally 
give it the right to fix the rent of land, the wages of la- 
bor, and the premium of insurance against the perils of 
the sea ? 

Nor is it necessary that the law should fix a standard 
of interest for parties who do not agree upon one them- 
selves. It is not found necessary to settle a standard of 



166 RATE OF INTEREST. 

freight, or to enact that a yard of cloth shall be of a de- 
termined value, when the buyer and seller neglect to ad- 
just it. The grand error consists in considering money as 
capital, instead of regarding it as only the measure of cap- 
ital. When dollars and cents are viewed in the same 
light as the yard-stick and scales, we shall cease to make 
a difference between the loan of money and the use of 
merchandise. Both resting upon the same principle, 
will be subject to the same rules, 
April 23, 1825. 



POLITICAL SCIENCE. 



No. I. 

A HISTORY of political knowledge would at any time af- 
ford a very agreeable and useful subject of speculation. 
But at present, when so many new states are forming, 
and so many changes are making even in established 
governments, it possesses peculiar interest. It is only in 
modern times that the theory of constitutions has form- 
ed a part of liberal studies. An account of the theories 
which have successively prevailed would open a path, 
which as yet is almost wholly unexplored. In the hope 
of directing the attention of others to this department of 
literary history, we shall occasionally publish a few re- 
marks, the materials of which have been for some time 
collected. For many of them we are indebted to the 
industry of a valued friend. 

Political inquiries into the rights and duties of sove- 
reign and subject presuppose a degree of established order 
in a state, which we do not find in very early times. 
Of course, no such inquiries were made among the 
Greeks until their constitutions, irregular as they were, 
were in a great measure fixed. Lawgivers madfe their 



168 POLITICAL SCIENCE. 

appearance, says Heeren, much before the spirit of spec- 
ulation had been occupied on the subject of politics. 
The objects of those lawgivers, therefore, were altogether 
practical. Among the Romans, though we find many 
practical applications of important political maxims in 
the contest between the king and the people, and after- 
wards between the Senate and the Plebeians, yet theoret- 
ical inquiries into the rights on which such contests were 
founded arose even later in the progress of society than 
among the Greeks. In hke manner, in modern times, 
no trace of political science can be found till after the na- 
tions had been distinctly separated, and partial limits had 
been set to the different orders and powers of the state. 
The feudal system forbade it entirely, from its rude sim- 
plicity, which acknowledged no relations in society but 
those of lord and serf, and in war, of leader and follower ; 
and even if other circumstances had tended to develope 
political science, the fatal torpor which had checked the 
spirit of inquiry in other departments of knowledge would 
have prevented it. 

The present age has afforded the first examples of the 
formation of a constitution, in the modern sense of the 
terms ; that is of a form of government, complete in it- 
self, established at once. There was nothing like it in 
former times ; for the lawgivers of ancient Greece were 
merely reformers of existing usages ; and what is called 
the constitution in most nations of Europe is merely an- 
cient custom, more or less modified by legislative enact- 
ments or royal decrees. The reason of these usages and 
customs, and the rights on which they were founded, 
are, g^mparatively speaking, the subjects of modern in- 



POLITICAL SCIENCE. 169 

vestlgation. We shall pass at once, therefore, to the 
period of modern history. 

It is not until die end or towards the end of the middle 
ages, that we find a state of government and of intellec- 
tual cultivation such as to give birdi to political inquiry. 
The first trace of it seems to be found in the long con- 
troversy between the emperors and the popes on the great 
question of ecclesiastical and temporal rights over the 
bishops — or, as it was then called, the right of election 
and investiture — which began about the year 1321, un- 
der the reign of Louis of Bavaria. The traces here how- 
ever are very slight, as the question was in fact a theo- 
logical one, and controverted between independent prin- 
ces ; so that the reciprocal rights of sovereign and sub- 
ject were only incidentally examined. 

The next trace is found in France in 1407, on occa- 
sion of the murder of a Duke of Orleans by a Duke of 
Burgundy, in which John Petit, a doctor of divinity, 
came forth as the champion of the criminal, in a work, 
entitled The Rights of Men against Tyrants and Prod- 
igals ; a book which the Council of Constance ordered 
to be publicly burnt, though the order was never execu- 
ted. 

In Italy where such inquiries might naturally be ex- 
pected, from its division into small republics and from 
the activity of political parties, we find none for many 
years. The politics of the Italian states were confined 
to narrow intrigues for personal and family aggrandize- 
ment ; and were altogether practical. Philosophical in- 
quiry, systems and theories, were quite unknown ; and 
even in Machiavel, who published his Prince in 1515, 



170 POLITICAL SCIENCE. 

and bis Discourses on Livy a few years after, we find 
only detached maxims founded on experience, and no 
attempt to lay down general principles, or to treat the 
subject in a scientific form. 

The Reformation in fact gave the first impulse to po- 
litical inquiries in a regular form ; not only because it 
claimed a general freedom of thinking, and excited a 
general spirit of investigation, but because in its very 
course and consequences it disturbed the most impor- 
tant questions of right between sovereign and subject. 
The demand of the Reformer was religious freedom, which 
was denied by all the sovereigns of Christendom. Hence 
arose at once the great question, whether the subject is 
bound to render unlimited obedience in all points. In 1531 
the faculties of theology and law at the University of Wit- 
temberg, under the influence of Luther, made a solemn 
decision, that in matters of ftiith, emperor and prince were 
alike without right to claim unconditional obedience. 
Zuingle, who had begun to teach in Switzerland as early 
as 1518, soon went beyond the Germans, and declared 
publicly that a bad prince might lawfully be deposed ; in 
which he was followed and supported by Calvin. This 
important principle was laid at the very beginning of the 
Reformation, and is in fact the foundation of all modern 
liberty. It put at issue the important question, when and 
how far the subject way refuse obedience, or in other 
words, how far he is independent of his sovereign. It 
was indeed at first a theological question ; but afterwards, 
as the Reformation itself assumed a political character, 
this too became a political question. In the war that fol- 
lowed the League of Schmalkald in 1531, and at the 



POLITICAL SCIENCE. 171 

peace of Augsburg in 1555, the question was more po- 
litical than theological. 

We shall hereafter show more fully, that in modern 
times religious freedom has been the parent of civil lib- 
erty ; and that almost every thing valuable in political 
science may be traced back to the Reformation by Lu- 
ther. 

July 17, 1824. 



No. II. 

The troubles in the Netherlands which began in 1 568 
and ended in the establishment of their independence in 
1609, and the wars of the Huguenots in France from 
1562 to 1593, afforded the next occasion for political 
discussions. The questions respecting constitutional 
forms, however, to which we are now so much accus- 
tomed, had not then arisen. The inhabitants of the Low 
Countries were contending only for the maintenance of 
their former privileges ; and amidst the horrible confu- 
sion of the civil wars in France, when every man's life 
was as uncertain as the cast of a die, there was no lei- 
sure or inclination for political theories. Tlie circum- 
stances of the times, however, brought every man to 
decide practically for himself, how far it was lawful for 
the subject to resist oppression from his government. 
There were even a few books written in those unquiet 
times, in which this point was freely examined. Thus 
Hubert Languet, son of the governor of Burgundy and 



172 POLITICAL SCIENCE. 

one of the best practical statesmen of the age, wrote, 
under the name of Junius Brutus, a book that excited a 
great sensation ; though it now appears to be of litde value. 
It was entitled a Justification against Tyrants, and was 
published in Switzerland in 1577, thouo;h the titlepage 
bears the name of Edinburgh. Another work was pub- 
lished in Paris in 1589, entitled Four Books concerning 
the just Expulsion of Henry III. from the Kingdom of 
France. It was written by some partisan of the Duke 
of Mayenne, whose name has not been preserved. In 
1592 the Abbe Raynald, Professor of Theology at 
Rheims, wrote, under the name of Bossceus, a book, the 
subject of which is sufficiently explained in the title. It 
was called A Treatise on the just Authority of the Chris- 
tian Commonwealth over impious Kings and Heretics; 
and especially on the Bight of Expelling Henry ofJVa- 
varre or any other Heretic from the Kingdom of France, 
Two years afterwards, when Henry the Fourth made 
his entry into his good city of Paris, this book was burnt 
by order of the Parliament of Paris. 

The political work of Mariana, the great historian of 
Spain, is on every account worthy of particular attention. 
He published at Talavera, in 1608, A Treatise on the 
Bights and Duties of a King, in three books, which he 
dedicated, oddly enough, to Philip the Second. It was in 
tended to justify James Clement for assassinating Henry 
the Third of France ; and the grand principle of the work 
is, that the authority of the people is superior to that of kings. 
It was burnt by order of the Parliament of Paris in 1610. 

But by far the most important political writer of the . 
sixteenth century was John Bodin. He was born at 



POLITICAL SCIENCE. 173 

Angers in 1530 ; and applied himself to the practice of 
the law, first at Toulouse, where he read lectures on that 
science with much applause, and afterwards at Paris. 
But soon devoting himself to politics, he was made secre- 
tary to the Duke of Alencon, and travelled with him into 
England and Flanders. In 1576 he \*7as chosen a deputy 
to the last States General held at Blois, in which he con- 
tended manfully for the rights of the people. He par- 
ticularly opposed the designs of those who would have 
compelled all the subjects of the king to embrace the 
Catholic faith ; by which he drew upon himself the mark- 
ed displeasure of Henry the Third. He died of the 
plague at Laon, in 1596. He belonged to the Protestant 
party, but was so much in advance of his age in his senti- 
ments of religious toleration, that he is represented by 
different writers as a Huguenot, a Papist, a Deist, a Jew, 
and an Atheist, — to say nothing of his being reputed a 
sorcerer, a reproach which he shared with Friar Bacon. 
Chancellor D' Aguesseau pronounces him to have been a 
worthy magistrate, a learned author, and a good citizen. 
He published at Paris, in 1577, a treatise in French on 
the Republic, in one volume folio. It met with such suc- 
cess, that four editions were printed at Paris in three 
years [seven editions according to Dugald Stewart) ; an 
edition at Lyons in 1593, and another at Geneva in 
1600. It was translated into Latin by the author, and 
published at Paris in 15S6, and another Latin translation, 
a very bad one, was printed at London about the same 
time. When the author visited England in 1579 with 
the Duke of Alencon, he fourra that puhlic lectures were 
delivered on this work, both in London and Cambridge. 
15* 



174 POLITICAL SCIENCE. 

In 1606 it was " done into English " by Richard Knolles, 
with so much spirit and taste that the translati )n was con- 
sidered superior to either the French or Latin original. 

The leading principle of this work, so celebrated in its 
time, and now so little known, is, that " a state is a col- 
lection of families, which, in accordance with the maxims 
of justice, transact their common affairs by a common 
head." This common head he supposed to unite the 
legislative and executive powers, and to be indivisible. 
He distinguished between monarchy and despotism, by 
the justice or injustice of the common head ; and made 
the lawfulness of the government to depend entirely upon 
the justice with which it was administered. 

" He appears to have been one of the first," says Du- 
gald Stewart, " that united a philosophical turn of think- 
ing with an extensive knowledge of jurisprudence and of 
history." " In his views of the philosophy of law, he has 
approached very nearly to some leading ideas of Lord 
Bacon ; while, in his refined combinations of historical 
facts, he has more than once struck into a train of specu- 
lation, bearing a strong resemblance to that afterwards 
pursued by Montesquieu. Of this resemblance, so re- 
markable an instance occurs in his chapter on the moral 
effects of climate, and on the attention due to this circum- 
stance by the legislator, that it has repeatedly subjected 
the author of * The Spirit of Laws ' (but in my opinion 
without any good reason) to the imputation of plagiarism. 
A resemblance to Montesquieu, still more honorable to 
Bodin, may be traced in their common attachment to re- 
ligious as well as civil liberty. To have caught, in the 
sixteenth century, somewhat of the philosophical spirit of 



-POLITICAL SCIENCE. 175 

the eighteenth, reflects less credit on the force of his 
mind, than to have imbibed in the midst of the theologi- 
cal controversies of his age, those lessons of mutual for- 
bearance and charity, which a long and sad experience of 
the fatal effects of persecution has, to this day, so imper- 
fectly taught to the most enlightened nations of Europe." 

Bayle pronounces him an e?:act and judicious writer, 
of great genius, of vast knowledge, and of wonderful 
memory and reading ; and in the opinion of La Harpe, 
his Treatise of the Republic was " the germ of ' The 
Spirit of Laws.' " 

A writer who thus anticipated Bacon and iMontesquieu 
was no ordinary man. 

July 24, 1824. 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 



No. I. 

Among the concerns to which the attention of Con- 
gress will be called the present session, there is no one 
more important than that of " establishing uniform laws 
on the subject of Bankruptcies throughout the United 
States." The power of enacting such laws was ex- 
pressly given by the constitution ; and of course the 
exercise of this power was contemplated by the framers 
of the government. There appears to be some diver- 
sity of opinion respecting the general policy of such 
laws, and still more concerning the particular provisions 
which they ought to contain. We shall take some occa- 
sion hereafter to discuss the general question ; and we 
think it can be made apparent that a uniform system of 
bankrupt laws, under proper regulations, would tend even 
more to the security of the creditor, than to the relief of 
the debtor. It is our design at present to make a brief 
sketch of the origin, progress, and present state of the 
English Bankrupt Law 5 the successive alterations and 
amendments of which may furnish some useful hints for 
the consideration of the subject in this country. 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 177 

The first Bankrupt Law was passed in 1542 in the 
35th year of Henry the Eighth. It is entitled, " An act 
against such persons as do make bankrupt," and has the 
following remarkable preamble, showing conclusively that 
the security of the creditor was its only object : " Where- 
as divers and sundry persons, craftily obtaining into their 
hands great substance of other men's goods, do suddenly 
flee to parts unknown, or keep their houses, not minding 
to pay or restore to any their creditors, their dues, but at 
their own will and pleasure, consume debts and the sub- 
stance obtained by credit of other men, for their own 
pleasure and delicate living, against all reason, equity, 
and good conscience ; it is enacted," Sic. By this sta- 
tute, a court of commissioners was erected, consisting of 
the Lord Chancellor, and the two Chief Justices, with 
whom several of the great officers of state were asso- 
ciated, who had power, upon the complaint in writing of 
any party grieved, to make such orders respecting the 
person and property of such debtor, as to them should 
seem expedient ; to cause his lands and goods to be sold, 
and the proceeds to be divided rateably among his credi- 
tors ; and to call before them and examine upon oath all 
such persons as were suspected of having or concealing 
any part of the debtor's property. It was also enacted, 
that if any person concealed any part of the debtor's ef- 
fects, he should forfeit double the value of the property 
concealed ; that if any person made a false claim before 
the commissioners, he should forfeit double the amount 
of his claim ; and that if any person colluded with the 
debtor to have a false claim allowed, he should forfeit all 
his goods and chattels 5 the several forfeitures to be em- 



178 BANKRUPT LAWS. 

ployed by the commissioners in the payment of the bank- 
rupt's debts. By this statute only two acts of bankruptcy 
are specified, that of fleeing to parts ynknoivn, and that 
of keeping house, not minding to pay his creditors. Un- 
til one of these acts was done by the debtor, the com- 
missioners had no authority to proceed according to the 
statute. And it is expressly provided that the creditors 
shall not be barred of their debts, excepting so far as 
they are actually paid by the effects of the debtor. It is 
worthy of remark, that both in this and the two next 
Statutes on the same subject, the bankrupt is uniformly 
considered a criminal, and is usually designated as the 
offender ; " the goods of such offender shall be taken by 
the commissioners," &ic. Lord Coke somewhere re- 
marks, that we have fetched as well the name as the 
wickedness of bankrupts from foreign nations ; and he 
adds, that no act of parliament was made against any 
English bankrupt, until the 34th year of Henry the Eighth, 
when the English merchant had rioted in three kinds of 
costlinesses, namely, costly building, costly diet, and costly 
apparel. 

This act continued unaltered for twenty-eight years ; 
and we have nothing in the books to show how it was 
executed, or what construction was put upon it. 

In 1570, the 13th of Elizabeth, an act was passed for 
" the repression " of bankrupts, and " for a plain decla- 
ration who is and ought to be deemed a bankrupt." 
This statute confines the operation of the law to mer- 
chants and traders ; and enumerating several additional 
acts of bankruptcy, such as beginning to keep house, or 
departing from his house, or suffering himself to be ar- 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 179 

rested, or yielding himself to prison, to the intent 
of defrauding or hindering any of his creditors, de- 
clares that the merchant or trader who shall do 
such acts, shall be deemed and taken for a bank- 
rupt ; that is, from that moment is a bankrupt. The 
second section gives the Lord Chancellor authority 
to appoint colTimissioners, and confers upon these com- 
missioners nearly the same powers, as were possess- 
ed by the court of commissioners under the statute 
of Henry the Eighth. The forfeitures for concealing 
the bankrupt's effects, or for colluding with him, are 
the same as in the former act ; and it is provided, 
that if the bankrupt do not surrender himself to the com- 
missioners after five proclamations, upon five market days, 
made in the town nearest the bankrupt's dwelling, that 
he shall be out of the queen's protection ; and all persons 
assisting him in escaping or concealing himself, shall suf- 
fer fine or imprisonment at the discretion of the Lord 
Chancellor. And it is expressly declared, as in the for- 
mer act, that the creditor shall not be barred of any more 
of his debt, than such part as shall be actually paid to 
him by the commissioners ; and all property afterwards 
acquired by the bankrupt, shall become immediately vest- 
ed in the commissioners until his debts be fully satisfied. 
Of course, under this statute, the creditor could take the 
body of the debtor, while the commissioners seized his 
property ; — a striking proof that the discharge of the debt- 
or formed no part of the policy or design of the original 
bankrupt laws. The enacting part of the eleventh sec- 
tion of this statute is introduced with this remarkable ex- 
pression, " That if any person who is, or shall be pun- 



180 BANKRUPT LAWS. 

ished and declared to he a bankrupt by virtue of this act," 
&tc., considering bankruptcy throughout as a crime. 

The next statute was passed in 1604, the first year of 
James the First. The preamble sets forth, "that frauds 
and deceits, as new diseases, daily increase amongst 
such as live by buying and selling, to the hindrance of 
traffic and mutual commerce, and to the general hurt of 
the realm, by such as wickedly and wilfully become 
bankrupts." 

The statute then declares more particularly who shall 
be adjudged a bankrupt, but does not vary materially 
from the description in the former statutes. It enacts, 
that all voluntary conveyances and gifts made by a bank- 
rupt shall be void. Under this section, which is a very 
important one in principle, it has been decided, that 
when a man, who is not a trader and not in debt, makes 
a settlement upon his wife and children, and afterwards 
becomes a trader and a bankrupt, this settlement cannot 
be affected by the bankruptcy. Il has also been deci- 
ded, that money, given by a father who is a trader, to his 
son to set him up in business, cannot be recovered back 
by the assignees of the father. This decision seems to 
have been made upon a literal construction of the words 
of the statute ; which makes void all gifts of lands, tene- 
ments, goods, chattels, and debts ; but does not mention 
money. [See 2 Maule and Sehvyn, 36.] The statute 
of the 13th of Elizabeth gave the commissioners power 
to examine all persons who could give any material infor- 
mation respecting the bankrupt's property ; this act gives 
them power to compel the attendance of witnesses, 
and provides for the punishment of perjury in any person 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 181 

examined by the commissioners. And as doubts had 
arisen whether the commissioners could collect debts due 
to the bankrupt, this act authorizes them to appoint an 
assignee who should collect them in his own name. It is 
provided, however, that no debtor who should pay the 
bankrupt without notice of the assignment, should be af- 
fected by it. 

In 1623, the 21st of James the First, another act was 
passed " for the further description of a bankrupt, and 
relief of creditors," which s*ets forth more particularly 
who shall be deemed a bankrupt, and what shall be con- 
sidered acts of bankruptcy. It declares that the bank- 
rupt's wife may be examined for the discovery of his 
effects, and gives authority to the commissioners to break 
open his doors if necessary. And it makes goods in the 
possession of the bankrupt liable to pay his debts ; on 
the principle, as it would seem, that he who lends goods 
to a bankrupt to support his credit should not be in a 
better situation than he who lends him money. The 
statute limits the time for suing out a commission to five 
years after the act of bankruptcy committed, and extends 
the benefit of the bankrupt laws to strangers as well as 
native citizens. 

A short statute was passed in 1662, the 13th of Charles 
the Second, declaring that no person was a trader within 
the meaning of the bankrupt act, for merely owning stock 
in the East India or Guinea company. 

Thus far it appears that no provision was made or in- 
tended, in these several acts, for the relief of the debtor. 
He was considered a criminal desirous of evading the 
payment of his just debts. And the only design of the 
16 



182 BANKRUPT LAWS. 

Bankrupt Law was to wrest his property from him, and 
divide it among those from whom, it was supposed, he 
unjustly withheld it. 

The subsequent aherations of the law will be consider- 
ed in a future paper. 

Dec. 15, 1821. 



No. II. 

We resume to-day the history of the English Bank- 
rupt Lav/s which we commenced a fortnight ago. The 
subject may not be very alluring ; but it is one of gene- 
ral importance. For the practical operation of a sys- 
tem of laws cannot be better understood, than by attend- 
ing to the successive alterations and amendments that 
experience has proved necessary to be made in them. 
If a bankrupt law should be passed in Congress, — and 
it appears certain that one will, at some time, be enact- 
ed, — it will be convenient to examine continually the 
English statutes upon the same subject, to observe in 
what manner their intention has been fulfilled, or evaded. 
It is no small advantage to us, to have upon this occasion 
the experience of an intelligent and commercial nation, 
for nearly two hundred and eighty years. 

The Bankrupt Law, we have seen, continued unaltered 
in principle from the year 1623 (the 21st of James the 
First) to the 4th of Anne, 1705. But it was found, from 
the experience of nearly a century, that the bankrupt 
could not easily be induced to surrender his property to 
his creditors, for whose benefit alone the several statutes 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 183 

had hitherto been passed. It was therefore enacted in 
the 4th year of Queen Anne, that if any person should 
become a bankrupt after the 24th of June, 1706, notice 
that a commission of bankruptcy had issued against him 
should be left at his usual place of abode, and also be 
published in the Gazette ; and if such person should not, 
within thirty days after such notice, surrender himself to 
the commissioners, and submit to be examined upon oath 
by them whenever they should require it, and disclose all 
his goods, effects, papers, accounts, and writings, which 
^ he had had at any time before or after the issuing of the 
commission, and also surrender up the same to the 
commissioners, so far as they were in his possession or 
under his control, such bankrupt, upon conviction there- 
of, should suffer death as a felon. The Lord Chancellor 
might, however, in special cases, enlarge the time of sur- 
render as he should think fit, not exceeding sixty days. 
The commissioners were empowered to commit to prison 
any person who should refuse to appear before them, and 
testify concerning any acts of bankruptcy of the debtor. 
Although the bankrupt did not become a felon if he sub- 
mitted himself within thirty days, yet immediately upon 
proof before the commissioners of his having committed 
an act of bankruptcy, they might certify that fact, and 
require any judge or justice of the peace to issue a war- 
rant for his apprehension ; upon which he might be ar- 
rested and committed to any gaol, until he should surren- 
der himself and his property to the commissioners. 

After these severe enactments for the benefit of the 
creditor, it gives some relief to find a provision in favor 
of the unhappy debtor. As a reward for complying with 



184 BANKRUPT LAWS. 

the directions of the statute, it gave to the honest bank- 
rupt five Y>er cent, out of the neat proceeds of his estate, 
providing that it should not exceed in the whole two hun- 
dred pounds ; and it discharged the bankrupt from all 
debts due at the time of suing out the commission. Thus 
it appears that the Bankrupt Laws existed one hundred 
and sixty-three years, before any thing was done for the 
relief of the debtor. 

This statute introduced many salutary regulations, 
most of which have been incorporated in subsequent acts. 
It provided, that when the bankrupt's estate did not pro- 
duce eight shillings in the pound, his allowance should be 
only such as the commissioners chose to give. And it 
deprived any bankrupt of the benefit of a certificate, who 
should have lost in gaming five pounds at any one time, 
or one hundred pounds in twelve months. The act was 
to continue in force only three years. 

The next year, 1706, an act was passed to explain and 
amend this act, and to prevent frauds frequently com- 
mitted by bankrupts. The statute of the preceding year 
had made it felony without benefit of clergy, for the bank- 
rupt to conceal any part of his property ; — this statute 
made it a capital crime, only when the concealment was 
to the amount of twenty pounds and upward. And it 
rendered void all securities given by a bankrupt to his 
debtor to induce him to sign his certificate. In this act, 
provision was made, for the first time, for the choice of 
assignees by the creditors ; " to whom alone the com- 
mission should assign the bankrupt's estate and efl?ects." 
And to prevent the taking out of commissions fraudulently 
or mahciously, it was provided that no commission should 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 185 

issue, unless upon the petition of one creditor to the 
amount of one hundred pounds, or of two to the amount 
of one hundred and fifty pounds. 

Another explanatory act was passed in the 10th of 
Anne (1711), which contained hut one section of any im- 
portance at present. That section declared that a dis- 
charge of a hankrupt should not operate as a discharge 
of his solvent partner. 

In the 5th year of George the First (1718) all the pre- 
ceding acts were incorporated into one statute, which at 
the same time introduced several new regulations. The 
petitioning creditor was required to give bond to the 
Lord Chancellor that he would prove his debt, and prove 
the party a bankrupt ; and in case a commission was 
fraudulently taken out, the Lord Chancellor might order 
satisfaction, and assign the bond to the party aggrieved. 
No creditor whose debt did not amount to ten pounds, 
was permitted to vote for an assignee ; and the Lord 
Chancellor, upon petition of the creditors, might discharge 
the assignees and cause a new assignment to be made. 
And in case the petitioning creditors by agreement with 
the bankrupt, or otherwise, received from him more than 
the other creditors, the commission should be superseded, 
and a new one granted. It was also declared that the 
commissioners should not be capable of acting till they 
had taken an oath to discharge their duty faithfully. 

In all these statutes it will appear that no provision 
was made for the case of a debt not due at the time of 
the bankruptcy. It had been decided by the courts that 
such debts could not be proved under the commission, 
but no remedy was given till 1721, the 7th of George 
16* 



186 



BANKRUPT LAWS. 



the First. It was then enacted that such debts should 
be proved before the commissioners and allowed, dis- 
counting the interest to the time of payment. 

The statute of the 5th of George the First having ex- 
pired, a new act was passed in the 5th year of George 
the Second (1732), which reenacted the most important 
provisions of the preceding statutes with many additions. 
It enlarged the power of the commissioners to examine 
the bankrupt, or any other person, *' touching all matters 
relating to the person, trade, dealings, estate, and effects 
of every bankrupt.''^ It required the petitioning creditor 
to swear to his debt, as well as to give bond. In case of 
mutual dealings between the bankrupt and the creditors, 
the commissioners were authorized to state an account 
between them, and set off one debt against another. It 
empowered the commissioners to appoint a provisional 
assignee, until a meeting of the creditors could be called ; 
and it prescribed, for the first time, the mode of making 
dividends, — the very end and object of the bankrupt laws. 
And that the proceedings before the commissioners might 
not be lost, they were, upon petition of any of the credi- 
tors, to be entered of record, in chancery. 

It will be remembered, that the act of the 13th of Eliz- 
abeth gave to the commissioners power to dispose of all 
the property the debtor had at the time when he became a 
bankrupt ; and therefore made him completely incapable 
of disposing of any of his property from the moment of 
committing an act of bankruptcy. For the relief of in- 
nocent creditors, who had been adjudged liable to refund 
to the assignees, it was enacted in the 19th of George 
the Second (1746), that moneys received in the ordinary 



BANKRUPT LAWS 187 

course of trade, from a person who had committed an 
act of bankruptcy which was unknown by the receiver, 
should not be refunded, even if a commission of bank- 
ruptcy were afterwards taken out. 
Dec. 29, 1821. 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 



LETTER TO A FRIEND 



THE SUBJECT OF SUNDAY SCHOOLS, 



Portsmouth, October 8, 1822. 

Dear , 

Your letter is upon so interesting a subject, that, 
though I have not much leisure at present, I hasten to 
give you as full an answer as I am able. 1 will first give 
you an account of one Parish School, which I think has 
been successful in an unusual degree, and then state some 
objections to your plan. 

The South Parish School in this town was established 
in April, 1818. A meeting was called of those persons 
who were disposed to favor such an institution. Some 
half a dozen attended, and formed themselves into a so- 
ciety for the support of the school, and opened a sub- 
scription to defray the expenses. Three superintendents 
were then chosen by them, to whom the selection of 
teachers was confided. Notice was given, from the pul- 
pit, of the day on which the school would be opened ; 
and the children were requested to present themselves 



192 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

on the Saturday previous. The superintendents re- 
ceived them as they came, examined them separately 
in reading, heard them repeat a prayer (if they knew 
any), questioned them familiarly on the doctrines and 
duties of Christianity, and endeavoured to form some 
opinion of the amount of their religious knowledge. A 
book was then prepared, in which their names, ages, 
and places of residence, with the names and occupa- 
tions of their parents, masters, or guardians were entered 
in parallel columns. They were then classed by tens, 
according to their apparent capacities and degrees of 
improvement, the boys and girls being arranged sepa- 
rately. The requisite number of teachers was then en- 
gaged, and every thing prepared for the ensuing day. 

Such was the commencement of our school. We be- 
gan with about fifty children, and adopted the general 
regulations of which I send you a copy. We have from 
time to time made a few alterations, which I have mark- 
ed with a pen. Our school, at present, contains one • 
hundred and two girls, and eighty-three boys. The ave- 
rage attendance through tlie summer has been, sixty- 
seven girls and sixty-two boys. They are divided into 
thirty-one classes, under the care of seventeen ladies and 
twelve gentlemen, besides the superintendents ; two of 
whom have the care of classes, besides their other duties. 

The children and teachers assemble in the school- 
room, at the ringing of the first bell in the morning. The 
superintendents are usually there about twenty minutes 
sooner to prepare the room and receive the children. In 
ten minutes the school is opened. One of the superin- 
tendents reads a short passage from the Scriptures, and 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 193 

offers a prayer in plain and simple language, such as the 
children may understand. After this, each child repeats 
to his teacher the verse referred to on his ticket, receives 
the next number of his ticket, and the regular instruction 
then begins. These tickets are numbered from one to 
twenty-six, and are designed to produce punctuality in 
attendance. At the beginning of a quarter, each child, 
who is in his seat at the commencement of the religious 
exercises for the day, receives No. 1, or, if not present 
then, the first time he does attend he receives No. 1, and 
the next time he attends he repeats the verse referred to 
on the ticket, surrenders it, and receives No. 2, and so 
the other numbers in sequenceT If not in his seat at the 
opening of the school, he forfeits his ticket for that time, 
unless he has a good excuse for his tardiness. If absent 
(from whatever cause), he of course receives no ticket. 
Twenty-six lessons, equal to two lessons a day for thir- 
teen weeks, constitute a quarter. The tickets therefore 
are not numbered beyond twenty-six. The instruction 
continues in the school till the bell tolls a second time, 
when the school is dismissed, — each class going out to- 
gether, in order, the girls first, and then the boys ; and it 
is the duty of the several teachers to see that their re- 
spective children attend meeting. Seats are provided in 
the galleries for such children as have no other seats, the 
girls and boys on opposite sides of the meetinghouse ; and 
one of the teachers (in rotation) sits with them respec- 
tively. There are usually about fifteen boys and twenty 
girls, who would not attend meeting at all without this 
arrangement ; but who now attend punctually. 

17 



194 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

In the afternoon the children pass directly from the 
meetinghouse to the school-room. There is no formal 
opening of the school, but the children surrender their 
tickets, and repeat their verses, as they come in. After 
about an hour — usually longer — the school is closed by a 
prayer by one of the superintendents, and the children 
are dismissed. 

Each teacher is provided with a set of tickets, accord- 
ing to the size of his class, filed regularly and kept in a 
little box, which is marked with his name. These boxes 
are kept in the desk at school, and are distributed by the 
superintendents to the teachers, as they come in, in the 
morning. This prevents "Uny forgetfulness or confusion. 
The teachers are also provided with a class-paper, pre- 
pared by the superintendents, containing the names of the 
several children belonging to that class, with blank spaces 
to mark their attendance. They are also furnished with 
blank memorandum-books and pencils, to keep an ac- 
count from day to day of the behaviour and improvement 
of their several children. These operate as a check 
upon the tickets to prevent any child from getting by 
fraud a higher number than he is entitled to. 

In the last week of every quarter, the superintendents 
and teachers meet together, usually at the house of Mr. 
P — , in the evening. After a prayer by Mr. P — , for 
he always meets with us on such occasions, we converse 
familiarly on the state of the school. The teachers sur- 
render their several class-papers, and make a report of 
the behaviour, improvement, and general condition of 
every scholar. One of the superintendents takes notes 
in writing of every thing material that is communicated. 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 195 

and files the class-papers surrendered, and the reports 
made. At the close of the evening, a hymn is sung, and 
we separate. It is generally a very happy evening. 

After this meeting the superintendents prepare an ac- 
curate list of all the children in the school, ranging them 
under their several classes, marking against each name 
the number of tickets received, and adding such accounts 
of the behaviour of the children, as have been received 
at the teachers' meeting. For example ; 

" Class No. 1. Boys. Mr. A. L. teacher. 
I.e. - - - 26 
G. H. - - 26, &tc. 

" This class has distinguished itself through the quar- 
ter, for punctual attendance, and good behaviour at school 
and in meeting. The teacher reports I. M. to have made 
the greatest comparative improvement. W. S. has been 
detained by sickness," Sic. 

On the first Sunday of the new quarter, this list is read 
from the desk, by one of the superintendents. The room 
is generally crowded by the parents and friends of the 
children, on this occasion. After reading through the 
list, a small book, with a printed label, is given to each 
child who has been punctual during the last quarter. 
Every one who has obtained twenty tickets, is for this 
purpose deemed punctual. Those who have excelled, 
in each class, receive a book of more value, or a cerdfi- 
cate of good behaviour, &;c. at the discretion of the su- 
perintendents. If a child has not behaved well, the su- 
perintendent pronounces, as follows 5 " A. B. 26 tickets, 
is entided to a reward for punctual attendance ; but has 
forfeited that reward, by misbehaviour at meeting, diso- 



196 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

bedience, profaneness," he. as the case may be. We 
have never shrunk from these censures ; but the efficacy 
of the system is established by the striking fact that, dur- 
ing the last year, only three such censures have been 
necessary among one hundred and eighty-five children. 
One was given for playing at meeting, one for idleness 
and insubordination at school, and one for repeated care- 
lessness in losing books. 

These little rewards are made up into small bundles 
for each class, and directed to the several teachers ; and 
after the reading of the list, as above mentioned, the su- 
perintendents deliver them to the several teachers, and 
the teachers distribute them among the children. It is a 
day of great excitement to them all. After the delivery 

of these rewards, Mr. P makes an affectionate and 

familiar address to the children, in which he dwells upon 
such particulars as his previous attendance at the teach- 
ers' meeting has made him acquainted with. After pray- 
ing with them, he dismisses them with his good wishes 
and blessing. This is the only occasion on which his at- 
tendance at the school is required. 

At the expiration of the year, the superintendents make 
a full report of the general state and condition of the 
school (without mentioning names) to the society which 
supports the school ; and on the next Sunday, this report 
is read to the congregation, after sermon, with such re- 
marks in addition as Mr. P thinks most expedient. 

This contributes to keep up a sense of the importance of 
the school, both in the teachers and in the parents of the 
children, as well as in the children themselves. 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 197 

With regard to our mode of instruction, the grand 
principle is, that religious instruction, to be effectual, must 
be adapted to the actual state of the child's mind ; it 
must, therefore, necessarily, be by familiar conversation. 
The getting of lessons is of very httle consequence, ex- 
cept as it affords an opportunity for asking and answering 
familiar questions. The course of instruction, therefore, 
and the books used, are very different in different classes, 
and are constantly varying in the same class. This whole 
business is left to the teachers, who best know the wants 
and capacities of those under their care, with this only 
restriction, that no new book shall be introduced without 
the knowledge and approbation of the superintendents. 

As the general rule, however, for new scholars and 
new classes (till circumstances require a change) we re- 
commend the following course; 1. Short prayers to be 
committed to memory. 2. Watts's short Catechism and 
the Commandments. 3. Watts's Historical Catechism. 
4. Cummings's " Questions." 5. Lessons from Scrip- 
ture at the discretion of the teacher. We discourage les- 
sons memoriier, except among the smaller classes. These 
are allowed to commit to memory " Hymns for Infant 
Minds " and select hymns from Belknap. 

The class which I have at present, I took somewhat 
more than a year ago. It consists of boys from eleven to 
thirteen years old, and is one of the oldest and most ad- 
vanced in school. They had learned about half of Cum- 
mings's " Questions," when they passed under my care. 
I carried them through that book twice ; then through 
Porteus's "Evidences"; then Paley's "Natural The- 
ology " ; and they are now beginning Watts's " Improve- 
17* 



198 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

ment of the Mind." They have, at the same time, pass- 
ed through " The Acts " in course, in the following man- 
ner : I gave every Sunday a lesson of about twenty 
verses ; from these they were required to frame as many 
questions as they could imagine, and bring them to me in 
writing, on the next Sunday. We then compared their 
several questions together, and talked about them, and 
answered them. This has brought into use all the know- 
ledge I possess, and required a great deal more. One of 
my boys brought to me one hundred and fifty questions, 
and another ninety-six from the first chapter of " The 
Acts." Read it, and you may judge of their industry, 
as well as their ingenuity. I am now, at their repeated 
request, to begin an examination of the doctrines of Chris- 
tianity. I have not yet setded my plan 5 but I foresee it 
will cause me some labor. Porteus's " Evidences " I 
found was not an interesting book to them. It became 
necessary to prepare a sort of commentary of historical 
facts, to fix their attention upon it, and on the whole it 
did not succeed well. But Paley's " Theology " was a 
delightful book ; it arrested and fixed their attention be- 
yond hope. 

You will perceive from this account, that almost every 
thing depends upon the teachers ; and I take pleasure in 
telling you, that from our experience the teachers can be 
depended upon, for almost every thing. Some of those 
connected with our school have the children at their 
houses to explain and illustrate more at large than they 
can do at school. And the children are not only willing 
to attend at such times, but are pleased with it. In- 
struction has been made interesting, and they are willing 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 199 

to go out x.of the way to get it. We have at present, 
among our teachers, three who have received the greater 
part of their religious instruction at the school ; and they 
conduct themselves admirably well in their new capacity. 
They were first employed as assistant teachers, and then 
a small class was committed to them. severally. We hold 
out a similar promotion to the expectation of the older 
children ; and occasionally try them with the younger 
classes, and with a very good effect. 

After this history of our experience, you will be pre- 
pared to hear my objections to your plan. 

I. The children should not be collected by the clergy- 
men ; they will not have half the success of laymen. It 
is their profession to talk of the importance of religious in- 
struction, and in their visits to irreligious families, such 
conversation passes as words of course. But send a law- 
yer or a merchant, and the very novelty of the thing ex- 
cites attention. Besides, the influence of the minister 
should be reserved for greater occasions. 

II. A division of classes, according to age, is impossi- 
ble. We have sometimes put together children of five 
years and of eleven years ; and that because they re- 
quired precisely the same kind and degree of instruction. 
An intelligent child of a religious family will know as 
much of religious truth and will be as capable of under- 
standing religious truths, at six years old, as the unsettled 
children about the streets know^or can understand at thir- 
teen years. I had a boy at school two years ago — and a 
very smart boy too — who, at ten years old, was with diffi- 
culty made to comprehend what was meant by God. You 



200 SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

might as well arrange them according to the color of their 
hair, as according to their ages. 

III. Ten children are too many for a class. We tried 
it, and found it would not do. Six is the highest number 
advisable, and a smaller number if you could get teach- 
ers. In a class of six, for an hour, you have but ten 
minutes each ; and how small a time that is, to overcome 
a child's diffidence, and to get him sufficiently engaged 
in his lessons to ask questions freely. 

IV. Your schools will be good for nothing, if you dis- 
continue them at the end of eight months, or at any 
time. On this point, I speak earnestly and decisively. 
You will lose more in the habits of your children, in the 
four months your school is discontinued, than you will 
gain in the succeeding eight. There is no one thing I 
would press upon you so strongly. If your schools are 
discontinued in the winter, 1 should regard that one ^cir- 
cumstance as decisive of their fate. Your object is to 
form religious habits ; and just as your children have be- 
come accustomed to the restraints of the school ; just as 
you have taught them to begin to think and feel for them- 
selves ; just as you have become, in some measure, ac- 
quainted with their characters, and know how to talk to 
them ; just as you have persuaded them, by kindness and 
attentiofi, to regard you as their friends, and to express 
their doubts and ignorance to you without hesitation, you 
send them away from you, and have the same ground to 
go over again. The mischiefs of such a course, to the 
children, to the teachers, and to the general character of 
the school, are innumerable. If our school has been at- 
tended with more than usual success, it is to be ascribed 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 201 

principally to this cause, that it has been carried on stead- 
ily, permanently, without rest or intermission. No cliild 
has been sent from the school with the impression that 
he is now good enough or wise enough, and may rest 
from his labors for three or four months. No teacher 
has been permitted to say, " This is a good opportunity 
to withdraw from the school ; I have served my turn, let 
somebody else take it now." The children have not 
been suffered to think, that religion was a periodical 
thing, fit for bright suns and warm days, but not of suffi- 
cient importance to bring them out in the face of a north- 
west wind or a snow-storm. You inculcate upon them 
the duty of attending public worship ; — how can you do 
this with any hope of success, when you let them know, 
that a litde bad weather in winter keeps you at home 
from school ? I am glad that I am able to enforce my 
opinion by experience. * '^ * * Our parish embraces a 
very scattered population, and many of the children live 
at a considerable distance from the school ; yet, during 
the whole of last winter, the average number that at- 
tended, was one hundred and one ; on many days, when 
the weather was not stormy, one hundred and thirty-five. 
A very inadequate opinion prevails, of the nature of 
the instruction to be given at Sunday schools. If it be 
only the asking a certain number of prescribed questions, 
and receiving a certain number of prescribed answers, — 
if it be only catechising, — you may spare yourself any 
further pains. You have only to turn over the whole 
school to the town crier, and let them be taught to re- 
cite by platoons. But if you desire to awaken their 
faculties, to watch the first glimmerings of piety, to feed 



202 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

the flame without extinguishing it, you must study the 
character and habits of the child ; you must adapt your 
mind to his, and your language to his, and, by a very con- 
stant course of cross-examination, be certain that you are 
rightly understood, and that you have made the im- 
pression you intended to make. And for all this, what 
are fifty-two days in a year ! You will pardon me for 
expressing myself so strongly ; but 1 feel that the very 
existence of your schools depends upon the correction of 
this error. 

V. A report from the teachers every month is too of- 
ten. They will have nothing to say ; and having nothing 
to say, they will soon neglect it. Besides, this monthly 
report is to be followed by no consequences. In our 
school, the quarterly report is followed by an immediate 
distribution of rewards in conformity to it ^ and therefore 
becomes important. 

VI. I think the minister should not attend the school. 
Religious instruction from him, or in his presence, is too 
much a thing of course. Besides, if your teachers are to 
talk with the children (and their instruction is worth 
nothing, if they do not), many of them will be embarrass- 
ed by the presence of their minister. They will be afraid 
to talk freely, lest he should hear them. Besides, there 
may be important occasions, when the clergyman may be 
called in with powerful efl^ect, and his presence should 
not be made too common. I say nothing of the great 
labor which your plan would impose upon the minister on 
the Sabbath, when he can ill afford the time or strength. 

VII. In addition to your meetings of the superintend- 
ents, you should have an occasional meeting of the teach- 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 203 

ers of the same school. We could not dispense with 
ours. Besides making them acquainted with each other, 
and increasing their zeal by social excitement, they can, 
at such meetings, better arrange their classes, make mu- 
tual exchanges, and find the proper situation for any 
child whose situation or character is unusual. 

VIII. I am pleased with the subject and designs of 
your tracts 3 but, for reasons already given, think they 
ought not to be published for any particular age or class. 

IX. Your scheme for the instruction of the higher 
class, I would extend to every class. My plan would be, 
that the children should attend school, as long as their 
situation permitted, or until they grew up to be teachers 
themselves ; and that the teachers, by attending without 
intermission — (none of your winter-holidays !), — should 
acquire a love for the employment, and grow up into ju- 
dicious and well informed, if not learned theological in-~ 
structers. The books, of whatever kind, that are used, 
should be regarded more as a text-book for the teacher, 
than as a manual for the scholar. 

Children do not become pious, by getting lessons of 
piety. As the teachers can certainly learn as fast as the 
children, I can see no reason why they should not carry 
the same class onward to an indefinite progress. It should 
be impressed upon them, that it is a school for them- 
selves, as well as for the children ; that " he who water- 
eth shall be watered himself." 

One word more, about the expense of our plan, — no 
unimportant object in a general system. The rewards 
we distribute do not average more than four or five dol- 
lars a quarter for one hundred and eighty-five children ; 



204 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

and the whole expense of the school has been about for- 
ty dollars a year. This includes the purchase of testa- 
ments, hymn-books, catechisms, and books of all kinds, 
as well as printing and stationary. If we were now to 
begin, we could reduce even this small expense by spend- 
ing the money more judiciously. 

I am satified you do not want an apology from me, for 
answering your letter so much at length, and so freely. 
I know it is your single object to do good ; and it is mine 
to assist you in it, if possible. Let me know if you re- 
ceive this safely, and how my objections strike you ; for 
I wish to receive light as well as give it. 

Affectionately yours. 



AN ADDRESS 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE TEACHERS OF THE SOUTH PARISH 
SUNDAY SCHOOL INT PORTSMOUTH J APRIL, 1823. 



In compliance with your request, I appear before you 
this evening, to recall your attention to the important du- 
ties, in which you are engaged. I come not to offer ad- 
vice, or to prescribe a course for your direction 5 but as 
one of your own number, to collect the results of your 
past experience, and to bring together a few plain princi- 
ples, upon which you have hitherto acted, and to which, 
much of your success may justly be ascribed. 1 come to 
impress my own mind, as well as yours, with a sense of 
the importance of our employment ; and to kindle some 
new zeal, awaken some new energy, by bringing to view 
the mighty effects which may result from successful per- 
severance. We are fellow-laborers in the cause of hu- 
man improvement ; and whatever may be the result of 
our efforts, we are at least engaged in a cause of the 
highest dignity, and the deepest interest. 

To understand clearly the nature of our duties, nothing 
more is necessary than to place distinctly before us the 
18 



206 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

object to be attained. And what is that object ? Is it 
not to lay the foundation of a religious character ? Is it 
not to teach children to consider God as the supreme 
good, to look to his favor as the only source of pure hap- 
jDiness, to regard him as their best friend, and to rejoice 
in the continual proofs of his love ? But God is invisible, 
and children are engrossed with the perceptions of their 
senses : God dwells in the heavens, and is, to their ap- 
prehensions, a Being afar off, while they are attached 
only to present objects. They soon forget their parents 
and friends, when absent only a few weeks or months, and 
how can they have God in all their thoughts ? God is a 
being of infinite power and majesty ; they hear his voice 
in the thunder, and they are compelled to feel' his pres- 
ence in the violence of the storm ; and how can they 
love him, whose image brings only terror and dismay ? 
These considerations show our difficulties, as well as our 
duties. 

In commencing the religious education of a child, our 
first object should be to awaken his attention ; till this be 
effected, all other labors are useless. The ground must 
be prepared — the soil must be stirred up and loosened — 
before the seed can be cast in, with any hope of vegeta- 
tion. While the mind of a child is sluggish and inert — 
while his^ thoughts are roving and unfixed — we can do 
nothing, we can say nothing, that will make any perma- 
nent impression. And here hes the grand difficulty of 
our employment, as we have all experienced. How then 
is the mind of a child to be excited ? What instruments 
within our reach are of sufficient force to break the 
clod and lay it open to the sun ? An attentive observa- 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. * 207 

tion of the habits of children in the intercourse of com- 
mon life will probably suggest an answer. Children are 
always engaged with the pursuits and occupations of men. 
They delight to watch their parents in their daily em- 
ployments, and to imitate their labors. One great cause 
of the repugnance which children generally feel to schools 
and learning, is, that schools and learning are for chil- 
dren only. Men and women are engaged in active em- 
ployments ; and while children are at school, a broad 
line of distinction is drawn between them and the rest of 
the community. Hence, they are impatient of instruc- 
tion. They long to pass over the line, and to mingle in the 
cares and pursuits that engage the attention of those who 
are above them. This principle of imitation we may 
turn to good account. TVe must be in earnest ourselves. 
The pursuit of religious knowledge, and the acquisition 
of religious habits must be a part of our daily employ- 
ments. We must strive and labor, if we would prompt 
them to exertion. If, in all that we say and do, we show 
a deep conviction of the importance of religion, they will 
gradually learn to think it important. But our religion 
must not be a languid repetition of serious thoughts and 
solemn phrases. Children judge more from the eye and 
the tone of voice, than from the words. If we do not 
feel ourselves, we can never make them feel. 

But happily for us, the principle of imitation is not the 
only one to which we can resort for this important pur- 
pose. Children are naturally eager for knowledge. This 
is apparent from their inquisitive habits and their restless 
curiosity. When they turn with disgust from their books, 
it is not knowledge that they dislike, but the form under 



208 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

which it is presented. They dislike the labor of ac- 
quiring it. A book brings with it no excitement ; and 
they have not yet acquired the power of voluntary atten- 
tion. Curiosity then is a powerful instrument in our 
hands. And is there nothing we can communicate of 
God and his moral government ; of mankind, their past 
history and present condition ; of the human soul, its na- 
ture, powers, and capacities, its origin and destination 5 
of that unseen world to which we are hastening ; of the 
spirits of "the just made perfect" who surround the 
throne of God, and of those angelic beings who are sent 
forth to minister to the heirs of salvation ; is there nothing, 
in all this, which we can convey in simple language, and 
adapt to the capacity of children ? And is there nothing, 
in all this, to excite wonder, and delight, and admiration ? 
Surely, whh the Bible in our hands, we can be at no 
loss for subjects of conversation, that shall at once allure 
and stimulate the minds of children. And this is the 
first object ; for we must develope their faculties, before 
we can impress their hearts. We must talk to them ; 
excite them ; encourage them to talk in return ; lead 
them to spread open their minds before us, and state all 
their difficulties, and doubts, and indistinct apprehensions. 
Much labor is thrown away in the business of instruction, 
for want of knowledge of the precise state of the pu- 
piPs mind. IMany an anxious hour has been spent, and 
many a lesson given in vain., because the child has mis- 
understood a single word or phrase of the teacher, or has 
previously acquired some unfortunate prejudice, incon- 
sistent with the instruction we are endeavouring to give. 
The mind of a child is not passive. We cannot pour in 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 209 

knowledge, and leave it there without further trouble. 
If we do not excite it to action and lead it to labor with 
us, it will certainly oppose us. But this latent obstacle 
we cannot discover, without a very familiar intercourse, or 
a careful cross-examination. The instruction we give must 
be put in a variety of forms, and the child encouraged to 
return it to us in his own language, that we may be 
certain of having made the impression we intended to 
make. 

But, for this purpose, another object must be effected. 
We must ivin the affection of the child ; we must acquire 
his confidence. Instruction must come with the smile of 
friendship, not the sternness of authority. I do not mean 
that decorum and dignity should not be preserved ; that 
order should not be enforced ; that improper familiarities 
should not be repressed ; — for. all this is consistent with 
the most perfect confidence and love : but the child 
should feel that he is under the control of a friend ; he 
should be persuaded that you take an interest in his wel- 
fare ; that you are anxious for his improvement ; that 
you are affectionately, and zealously, and perseveringly 
laboring for his benefit. As soon as you have produced 
this conviction, your point is gained. Children are nat- 
urally open and confiding ; and they will scarcely attempt 
to conceal their thoughts and emotions from those whom 
they thus know to be their friends. 

If you have been so happy as to succeed thus far ; if 
you have excited the attention and gained the confidence 
of your pupil, the way is prepared for direct religious in- 
struction. I do not mean that no religious instruction 
should be given, till you are certain that the mind is awak- 
18* 



210 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

ened, and the affections won : but I mean that no direct 
religious instruction can be given with much hope of suc- 
cess, till these objects are effected ; and therefore, that 
all our exertions should at first be directed to the attain- 
ment of these objects. 

The essential principles of Christianity are few, plain, 
and simple. It was the peculiar blessing of the })oor, in 
the time of our Saviour, that to them the Gospel was 
preached. It therefore contained nothing beyond their 
apprehension. They were not perplexed with metaphys- 
ical subtilties, and nice distinctions, and elaborate creeds. 
They were taught their duties in plain precepts or en- 
gaging parables ; and the sanctions of religion, the re- 
wards and punishments annexed to the performance or 
neglect of their duties, were placed before them, under 
striking figures indeed, but in a manner too plain to be 
misunderstood. The Bible nowhere contains a system 
of faith, or of duties. No one of the inspired writers has 
taken occasion to draw up a creed, or present a summa- 
ry oi' Christian truth. Our Saviour and his apostles 
gave their instructions, adapted always to the circumstan- 
ces, and character, and even the local situation of those 
whom they addressed. They constantly took advantage 
of present objects, and passing events, to associate relig- 
ious truth with the common affairs of life. It was the 
fowls of the air, and the lilies of the field, that were to 
inspire confidence in God ; it was the well of Samaria, 
under a sultry sky, that suggested the Fountain of living 
waters, " of which whosoever drinketh shall never thirst ;" 
it was the Isthmian games, that were to teach the Corin- 
thians the value of persevering energy. Moral truth. 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 211 

that is thus associated with natural objects or with human 
actions of frequent recurrence, is rarely forgotten. It be- 
comes a subject of daily thought, and is wrought into the 
very texture of the mind. It should therefore be our 
aim, in the instruction we give to children, to imitate our 
own great liistructer. We should teach them, as he has 
taught us. 

It is our object to lay the foundation of a religious 
character ; and the great command of religion is to love 
God ; and the grand motive for the performance of this 
duty is, that God hath loved us. We are rational beings, 
and cannot act without an adequate motive. We can- 
not love God, unless he is presented to our minds under 
a character deserving of love. Nay, more, we cannot 
love God with all our hearts, unless his image is present- 
ed to our minds in connexion with ourselves. We must 
feel that he is our God ; that we have an interest in his 
favor ; that he is good to us. This principle should nev- 
er be forgotten in our instructions. When we teach a 
child to repeat " Thou shalt love the Lord, thy God, 
with all thy heart," can we give him no reason for this 
command ? Will no argument be suggested by what meets 
our eye, or strikes our ear ? Is there nothing in the soft 
and refreshing green spread over the earth, on which the 
eye reposes with so much delight ; is there nothing in the 
clear blue sky, which almost bewilders the fancy, and 
leads us on through trackless space almost to the throne 
of God ; is there nothing in the sounds which at this sea- 
son are heard from every bush and tree, and which al- 
most thrill the heart with vernal delight ; is there nothing 
in the fragrance which is wafted to us in every breeze, 



212 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

and which brings with it life, and health, and joy ; — ^is 
there nothing in all this to prove that God is good ? and 
cannot a child be made to apprehend, that it is God who 
is giving Jiiin these delights ? When his cheek glows and 
his breast pants with healthfid exertion, cannot he be 
taught that it is God, who is supporting his life ; that it 
is God, who is giving his lungs their play, and directing 
his blood through his veins ? When he takes an honest 
pleasure in the exertion of his faculties, and in exhibiting 
to you his intellectual improvement, is it not the time to 
show him that his memory, and judgment, and imagina- 
tion are all the gifts of God ? — that it is his " inspiration 
that giveth us understanding ? " I would have it every 
hour — and every moment — brought to the mind of a 
child, that God is every where, and God is good. 

I am sensible, that in order to produce this effect, even 
in a small degree, the ordinary mode of instruction in 
schools must be departed from. It is of very little con- 
sequence to give lessons to children in religious books, if 
pains are not taken to impress those lessons on the heart. 
There is no magic in the loords of the Bible. A man is 
not religious, merely because he reads the Bible, or is able 
to repeat any part of it. The whole of it may be commit- 
ted to memory, from beginning to end, and yet not one 
evil propensity be checked, or one devotional feeling ex- 
cited. And this for the plain reason, that it may be com- 
mitted to memory without being understood. One sim- 
ple truth strongly fixed in the mind, and dwelt upon, and 
returned to, and associated with external objects, is of 
more efficacy in religious education than thousands of 
chapters, and hymns, and catechisms, and creeds, com- 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 213 

mitted to memory and recited by rote. With us, there- 
fore, familiar conversation must be the great means of 
religious instruction. And to give it its full efficacy, this 
conversation must not assume the form of catechism; it 
must not be a dry rehearsal of religious truths. It must 
spring naturally from your circumstances and pursuits. 
You must give it a wide range. No matter whether it 
commence with a religious topic or not. If you have 
fixed in your own minds the principle you wish to incul- 
cate, you can gradually direct your pupil to that point, 
and when you have reached it, you will find his mind 
prepared for your instructions. A single instance of suc- 
cess, in this way, is worth a month of ordinary labor. 
You will not understand me, as intending to undervalue 
the ordinary employments of the school. Lessons are 
given, in order to ensure punctual attendance and regu- 
lar habits ; and lessons are given in religious books, that 
topics may be suggested, and opportunities afforded, for 
that conversation which must be the principal means of 
direct religious instruction. 

The example I have given of the manner in wdilch the 
love of God may be gradually excited and cherished in 
the heart of a child will sufficiently show the mode, in 
which the other grand duties of Christianity are to be in- 
culcated. Next to the love of God, both reason and rev- 
elation require of us gratitude to the Saviour. It is a duty 
which we are all too apt to neglect. We do not think 
enough of Jesus Christ ; or we think of him too general- 
ly, too distantly. We are apt to regard him, as a model 
of abstract perfection exhibited in other times, to men of 
different manners, habits, and pursuits from ours. We 



214 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

forget, or at least we do not feel, that he should be our 
mode], our pattern of imitation, — that " he liath left us 
an example that we should follow his steps." And it is 
precisely for this reason, that Christianity has apparently 
so little effect upon the great mass of those who dwell in 
Christian countries, and are considered as professors of 
the Christian faith. But there is, in the history of Jesus 
Christ, something peculiarly captivating to the minds of 
children. He is presented to them in a form which 
they can apprehend. He is not, like the Supreme Being, 
something vast and incomprehensible, filling all space 
and supporting all existence without being seen, or heard, 
or understood. When they are instructed in the exis- 
tence and attributes of God, they can bring to their im- 
aginations no visible point, in which they can centre the 
rays of his glory. The mind is overwhelmed and lost, 
when it attempts to grasp what is infinite and eternal.. 
But Jesus Christ appeared on earth as one of our own 
race. He partook of our nature, and when we think of 
him, we can bring to our minds his person, his deport- 
ment, his words, and all the circumstances of his fife. 
This is peculiarly valuable in the instruction of children. 
Jesus Christ, while on earth, passed through all the stages 
of human existence from infancy to manhood. He can 
therefore command our sympathies in every period of our 
own lives. There is scarcely a social or relative duty — 
scarcely an act or a suffering — in the countless variety of 
human scenes, in which we cannot derive instruction and 
support from his Example. The history of Jesus Christ 
should therefore be indelibly engraved upon the minds 
of children. They should be made acquainted with it 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 215 

in its minutest details. No opportunity should be lost of 
associating it with something that they already know or 
feel. The chords of religious emotion should be so mul- 
tiplied, that strike where you will in after life, some string 
shall be touched that will vibrate to kim. 

And here I would observe, that in the religious instruc- 
tion of children, the perplexed and controverted question 
of the precise nature of the Saviour's person, should be 
most carefully avoided. None of our duties, at least none 
of the duties of children, depend upon our understanding it. 
The region of religious controversy is cold and barren ; 
distracted by numerous paths ; covered with perpetual 
clouds, and vexed with continual storms. It is our duty 
in the maturity of our age and reason, when our moral 
princi])les are established and our devotional habits con- 
firmed, to explore our way through it. But children 
should be led only to the hill-side and the valley, where 
all is calm, and sheltered, and bright ; where they may 
feel at once the warmth and the splendor of the " Sun 
of Righteousness." Whatever may be our opinions of 
the personal nature of the Saviour, we all agree in his 
personal and official character. We all receive him as 
" the image of the invisible God ; " we all acknowledge 
him as the messenger sent from God 5 we all bow to his 
commands, as the commands of God. We all look to 
him as our moral Governor ; we all expect from him our 
final destiny. Wliile, therefore, we labor earnestly and 
constantly to lead the thoughts and affections of children 
to Jesus Christ, let us beware of perplexing their under- 
standings and chilling their hearts with controversies, 
about which the wisest and best of men have hitherto 



216 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

differed. It is our duty, as far as we have time and op- 
portunity, patiently and impartially to examine them ; for 
we are answerable to God for our opinions, as well as 
our actions. But, in the instruction of children, we should 
leave their minds as free as our own ; and whenever it 
becomes necessary to express to them our opinions upon 
any controverted subject, we should watch carefully our 
own hearts, lest we mistake party-spirit for Christian 
zeal. 

A most important subject remains, which it requires 
much care and prudence to communicate properly to 
children ; — I mean the sanctions of religion. One of the 
first lessons they receive is an account of their own im- 
mortality ; and I know of no theme, which can so readily 
excite the attention of children. They must live for 
ever ! On them death has no power. But how ? and 
where ? and with whom are they to live ? In answer to 
these questions, it requires no talents or skill to describe 
such a scene as shall harrow up the feelings and wither 
the heart of a helpless and timid child. I have known a 
young child afraid to look at the clouds, lest it should see 
there the face of an angry God. But this was not re- 
ligion ; it was terror, it was insanity. The first words of 
the Lord's Prayer are sufficient to show us that t-ie Su- 
preme Being should not be represented as a God of ven- 
geance. He is emphatically " our Father in heaven." 
The punishment of the wicked, in a future life, will be 
the necessary consequence of their sins. They will be 
miserable, because tliey are wicked. And it will be suf- 
ficient to convince children, by their own experience, 
that sin and misery are inseparably connected. You 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS.- 217 

can x^emind them, upon proper occasions, that they have 
ahvays been unhappy, when they have committed a fault 5 
and they can then be gradually impressed with one of 
the most important lessons they can learn, — but one which 
we are all constantly liable to forget, — that the commands 
and restraints of religion are only directions and cautions 
to us, to pursue our own happiness. If you have been 
successful in associating the idea of God with goodness, 
and love, and fatherly care, there will be but little occa- 
sion to talk with children of the punishments of the wick- 
ed in a future life ; and in this, as in every thing else, we 
should look to the example of Jesus Christ. While he 
denounced, in the most appalling language, the vengeance 
of Heaven against the hardened oppressor, the shameless 
hypocrite, the degraded sensualist, — " he took little chil- 
dren in his arms and blessed them." Such be our de- 
portment towards those who are intrusted to our care. 

But in conversing upon the rewards of the good in 
another life, — upon the happiness of that heaven to which 
we are all aspiring, — a most important practical lesson 
may be communicated to children. We have no reason 
to believe, that our happiness in a future state will be 
some strange and inexpressible delight, miraculously com- 
municated to us, independent of our character and situa- 
tion. We are nowhere instructed, that God will make 
us happy, merely because we are removed to another 
world. The whole analogy of God's government is op- 
posed to this supposition. God works by means ; and he 
works progressively. Nothing springs at once into its 
full perfection. Both reason and Scripture concur in the 
doctrine, that man is made for progressive improvement 
19 



218 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

and happiness ; and that this world is a preparation for 
the next. If, then, we are now preparing for another 
world, and if in that other world we shall advance in hap- 
piness and improvement, it follows, that our happiness 
will be the same in A;m<i (though infinitely greater in de- 
gree) with what we now enjoy. In other words, the 
happiness of heaven will have its foundation in our pre- 
sent character ; and will consist, like our present happi- 
ness, in the knowledge of God and of his works ; in the 
exercises of piety ; in the indulgence of the kindly af- 
fections ; in the consciousness of increasing virtue and 
holiness; and in the full conviction of the unaherable 
favor of God. Nor let any one suppose that this is a low 
view of the happiness of heaven ; that it is degrading its 
joys to the standard of mere human bliss. Consider for 
a moment, what would be your emotions, if you were 
now, in this place, weak and mortal as you are, assured 
by a voice from heaven that the contest was over ; that 
the victory was yours ; that you were now secure from 
sorrow and sin ; that you were the chosen of God ; and 
that from this moment, in company with kindred beings, 
you were to continue your upward flight with an unflag- 
ging wing,' still brightening in glory, as you advanced to- 
wards the throne ni the Most High? Would not the 
bare certainty of such a state be as much happiness as 
your nature could endure ? Consider further, the amount 
of knowledge w^e are able to acquire, in a few short 
years ; in this frail and sickly body ; amidst all the avo- 
cations of life ; distracted by numerous cares ; inter- 
rupted by necessary sleep : consider the progress we 
are able to make in moral virtue, amidst the sins and 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 219 

sorrows, the trials and temptations of this agitated state ; 
and then carry your views forward to what you will be, 
after the lapse of ages, in a state of constant and unin- 
terrupted advancement ? If we speak now with admira- 
tion of those great and pure spirits, who for a few years 
have enlightened and instructed the world, how shall we 
find words to express what we ourselves may be " when 
time shall be no longer." Surely, " eye hath not seen, 
nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, 
the things which God hath prepared for them that love 
him." 

But the practical lesson I would derive from such a 
view of future happiness is this, — that no exertion, how- 
ever feeble, is ineffectual ; that no acquisition, however 
small, in knowledge or virtue is lost. If I am right in 
the belief, that we are to advance from our present state, 
and that our happiness will result rather from our char- 
acter, than our situation, then every truth which we im- 
press upon the mind of a child, every good principle, 
which we communicate to his heart, is rendering him 
more fit for the happiness of heaven ; is making him ca- 
pable of higher happiness ; and of course every hour that 
we spend here, we are doing something to increase the 
happiness of heaven. Let me not be understood as as- 
serting, that we can do any thing to merit heaven. It is 
all a free gift ; an undeserved gift ; but like all the other 
blessings of God, it is a gift upon condition ; and we can 
perform the condition, and can teach others to perform 
it. It is therefore strictly true, that the happiness of 
heaven may be increased by our exertions. The little 
spark that we are attempting to kindle here, and which 



220 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

we can scarcely cherish into life, may glow with inex- 
tinguishable and increasing brightness, when the sun 
which enlightens our world, and the stars, which now 
twinkle above us, will be quenched in everlasting night. 

Do we need a stronger motive ? Is it not enough that 
we are doing something for human improvement; that 
we are promoting the grand cause of virtue and know- 
ledge in the world ; that we are preparing immortal 
minds for everlasting happiness ? Then remember, that 
we are laboring for ourselves. Not one good thought, 
not one kind feeling, not one generous purpose has ever 
been excited in this place, without its reward ; its re- 
ward in present happiness, in present improvement, and 
in capacity for future happiness. While we impress re- 
ligious truth upon the minds of others, — if we do it warm- 
ly, affectionately, sincerely, — we receive an equal im- 
pression ourselves. 

It may be, that hereafter, when separated from all that 
now engrosses our attention, when removed at once from 
the cares and hopes of life, we shall feel, that we have 
indeed entered upon a course which is to continue for 
ever ; it may be, that we shall advance together, to re- 
ceive our doom from him in whose name this school has 
been conducted. Then, when nothing earthly will yield 
us support, it may be, that our hope of acceptance will 
be founded upon the progress we have here made. It 
may be, that we shall be welcomed to that better world 
by some of those happy spirits, whom we have here 
taught to love their God and their Saviour, and who, in 
their upward progress, will bear with increasing bright- 
ness the image we have here impressed ! Do we need 
more ? 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 221 

" Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little 
ones, a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, 
verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his re- 
ward." 



APPENDIX. 



The South Parish Sunday School was established in 
May, 1818. A society was formed by several members 
of the parish for that purpose, and a subscription was 
opened to defray the necessary expenses of the school. 
As it was considered, at first, as a mere experiment, no 
pains were taken to procure the attendance of children. 
It was merely announced from the pulpit, that a school 
was opened for such children as chose to resort there for 
instruction, and those who attended were requested to 
mention it to their companions. On the second sabbath, 
one hundred and forty children repaired to the school, a 
large number of whom were precisely of that class and 
character which most required religious instruction and 
the discipline of a school. This success was entirely un- 
expected ; but it has continued without interruption to the 
present time. At the close of the last year, two hundred 
and twenty children belonged to the school, namely, one 
hundred and twenty- six girls and ninety-four boys ; and 
one hundred and forty-one had attended through the year. 
The present attendance is still greater, there being fre- 
19^ 



222 SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 

quently from one hundred and seventy to one hundred 
and eighty children at school. The school is under the 
care of seventeen ladies and thirteen gentlemen, besides 
several of the older children, who are employed as assist- 
ant teachers, or are intrusted with a small class, under 
the inspection and control of a regular teacher. 

The attention of the teachers was first directed to the 
forming of habits of order and decorum among the children 
at school, and in places of public worship. It was con- 
sidered that religious instruction would have small chance 
of success amidst rudeness and insubordination. At 
school, they have been entirely successful ; and, at meet- 
ing it is found that a larger number of children are pres- 
ent thari formerly, and that much less exertion is neces- 
sary, to preserve order and attention among them, during 
the lime of public worship. 

No precise course of instruction is prescribed in the 
school, as it is well understood, that the improvement of 
the child depends very much upon the personal commu- 
nications of the teacher, which must of course be contin- 
ually varied. A few general rules, however, have been 
adopted, which have been framed with the advice and 
consent of a majority of the teachers. 

When a new scholar enters the school, he is, examined 
by the superintendent, and placed in such a class as is 
best adapted to his acquirements and wants. It is the 
first endeavour of the instructer, to impress upon the 
mind of his pupil, a sense of dependence upon God, and 
of accountableness to him, and a deep reverence for his 
character and name. The first lessons, therefore, relate 
to the duty of prayer. Every child is taught some ap- 



SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 223 

propriate form of address to the Deity, and is instructed 
to pray habitually and reverently. He is then taught the 
Commandments, Watts's shorter Catechism, and the 
" Hymns for Infant Minds." These are followed by 
Watts's Historical Catechism, and lessons from the New 
Testament. In selections from the Testament, the lessons 
are always short, and the plainest and most practical parts 
are preferred. A considerable number of the children 
are exercised in Cummings's " Scripture Questions " ; 
and two classes have been instructed from Porteus's 
" Evidences " and Watts's " Improvement of the Mind." 
Mason on " Self-Knowledge " and Paley's " Natural 
Theology " have been occasionally used. 

At the end of a quarter, some small reward is given to 
every child who has been punctual in his attendance, and 
who has not forfeited his title to it by misbehaviour ; and 
a certificate of good conduct, or a larger reward, is given 
to those who have distinguished themselves. Nothing 
more has been found necessary, to preserve the discipline 
of the school. No corporal punishment has ever been 
inflicted or threatened. 

The success of the school — and with gratitude to the 
Supreme Being it must be acknowledged, that its success 
has been greater than common — is to be ascribed to the 
persevering use of judicious means. No sudden changes, 
or flashes of brilliant success, were expected or desired. 
Whatever is most permanent and valuable is of slow growth. 
And in the quiet progress of moral and intellectual im- 
provement, the friends of the school have seen enough to 
gladden their hearts, and to excite their gratitude to Him, 
from whom cometh down every good and perfect gift. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



CHARACTER OF A LAWYER IN THE 
UNITED STATES. 



Existat talis orator, qualem quaerimus. 

Cicero. 

To enumerate the qualities necessary to form a great 
and successful Lawyer, it will be proper to consider him 
in the several relations in which he may be placed in so- 
ciety, and the effect which the character of that society 
ought to have upon all his pursuits. In this country, 
where utility, actual or imaginary, is the chief standard 
of excellence and the chief measure by which public fa- 
vor is granted, a practical knowledge of his profession is 
the first requisite in a lawyer. It is not sufficient, that 
he should be acquainted with the theory of the science, 
or have a profound knowledge of its general princi- 
ples ; he must be dexterous in their application, and be 
thoroughly versed in all the subtillies of practice. For 
this purpose, his first object should be to perform in the 
best manner all the business intrusted to him, however 
small the amount, or unimportant the nature. The tal- 
ents of a general may often be displayed in the arrange- 



228 CHARACTER OF A LAWYER 

ment of a single troop. The quickness and facility of 
practice is perhaps one of the qualities most obvious to 
the multitude, and next to a captivating eloquence, most 
allures their regard. 

He should next endeavour to obtain an extensive and 
distinct view of the law as a science ; as the application 
of the principles of moral virtue to the various and jarring 
interests of society. This can scarcely be effected with- 
out a familiar acquaintance with the rules of ethical phi- 
losophy, and a knowledge of the principles of govern- 
ment, as they effect the municipal regulations of states. 
Of this last I shall speak hereafter. But I will venture 
to say, that no man can ever be an accomplished advo- 
cate, whose mind has not been enriched by the principles 
and arguments of moral philosophy. 

In considering the employment of an advocate, whose 
ultimate object is to convince and persuade, we are im- 
pressed at once with the necessity of order and logical 
arrangement. Without method, the most weighty argu- 
ments are vain and inefficient ; and the most brilliant elo- 
quence, idle and powerless. The advocate therefore 
must study and profoundly meditate the best writers on 
logic and the philosophy of the human mind. From the 
study of the mathematics he will acquire the habit of ab- 
straction, and the power of concentrating his attention 
upon a single proposition. But he will not pursue them 
too far, because the power of weighing probabilities and 
of deciding upon moral evidence, is rather inconsistent 
with the habit of rigid demonstration. 

But even the best arguments are repulsive, when 
clothed in harsh or ungrammatical expressions ; and the 



IN THE UNITED STATES. 229 

most learned dissertation will be heard with neglect, if 
delivered without grace and dignity. The advocate there- 
fore should express his thoughts with elegance and cor- 
rectness. 

The habit of speaking correctly should be commenced 
in childhood, and preserved by the most minute and con- 
tinual attention. The advocate should never, even in 
sport, indulge in vulgar or ungrammalical expressions. 
He should preserve the purity of his language, as of his 
mind, by repelling at once, every thing which is incorrect 
or doubtful. The theory of language, as the instrument 
of thought, he will have derived from his philosophical 
studies ; but it may be necessary for him to pursue it in 
its consequences as the means of communicating thought, 
and of affecting the minds of others. He will therefore 
extend his researches to the origin, progress, and changes 
of his native language ; to its improvements and corrup- 
tions, to its fulness and poverty. But he will not be satis- 
fied with speaking correctly ; he will aim at elegance, 
and for this purpose he will read, with unwearied atten- 
tion, the best writers of his own country, especially the 
poets and historians. He will engraft their finest ex- 
pressions into his own habitual style. 

He will not suffer a happy phrase to escape him. He 
will collect, combine, and imitate. He will sUmulate his 
imagination by poetry and works of fiction. He will 
cultivate his taste by contemplating the beauties of na- 
ture, and by indulging in the enthusiasm of generous sen- 
timents. 

But these qualities, however admirable, are not them- 
selves suificient to make a successful lawyer. A know- 
20 



230 CHARACTER OF A LAWYER 

ledge of the world, or of mankind, as experience has 
found them, must be superadded to the knowledge of 
books. This must be acquired by a liberal and familiar 
intercourse with different classes in society, and by a pro- 
found attention to the lessons of history and biography. 
There are few talents in which a greater difference is 
found among mankind, than in that of observation. To 
cherish and improve this talent, should be an important 
object in the education of an advocate. He should fre- 
quently revolve in his mind the character, habits, and 
situation of those with whom he is acquainted, comparing 
their improvement with their advantages, their present 
situation with their former hopes and future prospects. 
He must reflect deeply upon the character of the society 
in which he lives ; must discover the objects of their 
preference and aversion ; must analyze their passions, 
and be able to point out their predominant motives. This 
knowledge will be of infinite importance to him at the 
bar ; both in his examination of witnesses, and in his ad- 
dresses to the jury. It will give him the key to their 
passions and affections, and enable him to mould their 
conduct at his will. 

After a few years of successful practice at the bar, the 
influence he has acquired in society, and the esteem 
which his integrity has conciliated, will entitle him to a 
share in the public councils of his country. As a states- 
man, a new field of exertion and usefulness will be open- 
ed to him, which may well inflame the most honorable 
ambition. To have the power of conferring benefits upon 
millions, to have a part in measures which may affect the 
most remote posterity, and to associate his name with the 



IN THE UNITED STATES. 231 

history of his country, is indeed the noblest reward of an 
upright and intelligent citizen. But he, who aspires to 
distinction in -public life, must lay the foundations of his 
ambition broad and deep. He must be minutely ac- 
quainted with the history of his own country, and well 
versed in that of the civilized world. The knowledge of 
agriculture, commerce, and manufactures, must be added 
to that of law and history, to complete the qualifications 
of a statesman, " thoroughly furnished to every good 
work." 

But there are still more acquirements to be obtained, 
without which all this knowledge and talent would be in- 
struments of error or corruption. The lawyer ^ust have 
his moral principles strengthened and confirmed by re- 
ligious belief; not an attachment to particular phrases 
and terms, or a belief in the infallibility of a party or a 
sect, but a steadfast persuasion of the duties which man 
owes to his Creator, and a deep conviction of their con- 
tinual importance. This faith, as inculcated, confirmed, 
and explained by the Founder of Christianity, should re- 
ceive his most serious attention, and his most implicit 
submission. He should examine the tenets of the various 
sects of religionists, and carefully consider the influence of 
their several opinions upon their practice. From this ex- 
amination, he will learn a mild and catholic spirit ; and 
will perceive that many, who in profession are bitterly 
opposed to each other, are in fact united in principle and 
in practice. 

I have hitherto avoided speaking of one principle, 
which is to give life and animation to the whole. I mean 
that ardent love of excellence, which, untired by exer- 



232 CHARACTER OF A LAWYER. 

tion, and undismayed by opposition, pursues learning for 
its own sake, and, in silence and neglect, is content with 
personal improvement. He who possesses this spirit is 
sure of distinction. In the profession of law, more than 
in any other pursuit in life, his reward is certain. But if 
by any fatality his merit should be overlooked, his very 
studies have prepared him for happiness in obscurity. 

Possessing an active and well regulated mind, he will 
never become the victim of discontent or weariness. As 
his studies have been liberally extended over the whole 
circle of science, he can never be at a loss for agreeable 
and elevated employment ; and as his passions have been 
purified j^nd his hopes enlarged by Christian faith, he can 
look without emotion upon the changes of the world, and 
calmly await his removal to another scene. 
1816. 



ECONOMY IN PUBLIC SERVICE. 



No word in the language has been so often misunder- 
stood and perverted as economy. It is generally con- 
founded with parsimony, or mere saving of money, a 
quality from whicli it is entirely distinct. Economy is a 
wise regulation of expense, and not a forbearance of 
expense. It consists in judiciously adapting the means 
to the end ; in applying to a given purpose all the power 
necessary to effect it, and no more. It is therefore as 
much removed from parsimony as from extravagance. 

A few examples will render the distinction plain. A 
young mechanic, who should refuse to furnish himself 
with the tools of his trade, that he might save the money 
they cost, would be parsimonious, but not economical. 
A merchant, who should neglect to provide his ship with 
proper sails and equipments, might hoard his money, 
but would have no pretensions to economy. If we should 
see a father employing in trade the money necessary for 
the education of his children, and suffering them to grow 
up in ignorance, though we might speak of his parsimony, 
we should hardly venture to ascribe to him the merit of 
economy. 

20* 



234 ECONOMY IN PUBLIC SERVICE. 

Parsimony, in its consequences, generally tends to 
loss. In the examples we have just given, the mechanic 
and merchant would ultimately lose money, by the pres- 
ent saving ; and in the third case, the loss would be still 
greater, though of a different kind, — a loss not to be re- 
paired by any subsequent gain. 

As men are generally more inclined to spend than to 
save, it is more frequently the office of economy to cur- 
tail, than to enlarge expenses. But it is not always so ; 
and great evil arises from not making the necessary dis- 
crimination. Every man thinks he has the capacity of 
being economical, when in fact he may have only the ca- 
pacity of being parsimonious. Parsimony demands nothing 
but a knowledge of subtraction ; economy requires talents 
of a high order. A man, to be economical, must proceed 
like the inventer of a machine. He must place distinctly in 
his view the object to be effected, and the power under 
his control ; and must then apply the power to the object 
in a manner to waste as little of it as possible. Econo- 
my would reduce the expense of a steam engine, by di- 
minishing the the friction and increasing the velocity ; 
parsimony would leave the machine as it was, and take 
away half the fuel. 

We have been led to these remarks by the cry of econo- 
my, which has recently been raised in several parts of the 
Union. If economy were really meant by the cry, we 
should be glad to hear it ; for we would not have a cent 
unnecessarily expended. But if the mere saving of 
money be intended, without regard to consequences, — if 
economical reform mean the sacrifice of any thing neces- 
sary to the honor, or safety, or prosperity of the nation, 



ECONOMY IN PUBLIC SERVICE. 235 

we must be pardoned, if we hesitate to give it our support. 
There are many things in life more valuable than money ; 
and a nation, like an individual, may suffer irremediable 
losses by an ill-timed parsimony. If the salaries or per- 
quisites of any public offices are too high, — that is, if the 
highest qualifications can be commanded for a less sum, — 
reduce them. If any office be unnecessary, abolish it. 
If any expenditure be wasteful, diminish it. But do not 
let us degrade the government, or endanger the safety of 
the people, for any paltry consideration of present gain. 
It is very easy to reduce salaries, and diminish expenses, 
but it is not so easy to govern well a great and powerful 
people. We might get a governor of New-Hampshire 
for one hundred dollars, — nay, our almshouse would fur- 
nish a president for fifty ; we might save ninety thousand 
dollars a year, by repealing our school tax -, but v/e trust 
no one, at present, would contend, that we should be 
either better taught, or better governed, after this radical 
reform. 
Dec. 14, 1822. 



CAUCUSES 



There are two principles which must be admitted 
by the friends of a caucus nomination. The first is, 
that the nomination by a caucus ought to influence the 
subsequent election ; and the second is, that a small 
number of persons, self-appointed, can decide better, 
who is worthy of public office, than the people them- 
selves. 

If the nomination by a caucus be the mere naming 
of a candidate^ and is not designed, of itself, to affect 
the election, why so much \ anxiety to have a caucus 
assembled, and why are the people told that they must, 
at all events, acquiesce in such a nomination? The 
" National Advocate " has repeatedly asserted, that the 
people must and will abide by the decision of a caucus ; 
and that all who will not promise to submit to such de- 
cision do not belong to the Republican party. The same 
doctrine is supported by the " Richmond Enquirer," and 
receives some countenance from the " New-Hampshire 
Patriot." 

If the people are to abide by the decision of a cau- 
cus, then the President of the United States is in fact 



CAUCUSES. 237 

to be elected by a caucus. It is then the doctrine of a 
party among us, that the people ought not to elect their 
chief magistrate, but that a ruler should be set over them 
by a privileged few. 

The reasons assigned for a caucus nomination are, that 
without such a nomination, the votes of the electors would 
be scattered ; and that if the votes were scattered, there 
might be no choice by the electors. This is the appre- 
hended evil. If there were no choice by the electors, a 
choice must be made by the members of the House of 
Representatives, voting by states. This is the consti- 
tutional remedy. But if a previous nomination were 
made by a caucus, and if the electors were bound to 
vote for the person designated by the caucus, the votes 
would not be scattered, and there would be a choice, in 
the first instance, by the electors. This is the proposed 
remedy. 

Now who are the privileged few, who are to dictate to 
the electors? The members of the House of Repre- 
sentatives ? And why not the officers of the army and 
navy ? Why not the Secretary of the Treasury, or the 
Secretary of State, with their respective clerks ? A 
writer in the " Savannah Republican " proposes, that the 
Ex-Presidents should call a council of a few distinguish- 
ed men, and " by and with their advice and consent," 
select a President for the people. This, in Europe, 
would be called aristocracy ; in the opinion of the " Na- 
tional Advocate," a plan perfectly similar is to be the 
only test of republicanism. 

We have heard, that in a distant state, some years ago, 
an important cause was pending in court, in which the 



238 CAUCUSES. 

facts were so doubtful, that it was apprehended, that on 
the trial the jury would not be able to agree in a 
verdict. On the morning of the day in which the court 
was to sit, the friends of one of the parties, who had been 
summoned to court as his witnesses, finding themselves 
together near the court-house, very naturally fell into 
conversation respecting his cause. Upon comparing to- 
gether and talking over the testimony which they were 
severally prepared to give, the cas3 seemed a very clear 
one, and they were surprised, that any question should 
be made about it. They regretted that so much time 
should be lost, as would be necessary to try it before the 
jury. They at last concluded in the simplicity of their 
hearts, that the ends of justice would be promoted, by 
preparing a verdict, at once, for their friend the plaintiff. 
The verdict was accordingly drawn up ; by which it was 
decided, that the plaintiff should recover the whole estate 
demanded in his writ. As soon as the jury was empan- 
nelled and the cause called on for trial, one of the wit- 
nesses rose, and respectfully addressing the court, in- 
formed them that he had the pleasure to state, that the 
cause was already decided ; that although it was a neces- 
sary formality, — a very absurd and antiquated one, to be 
sure, — that the jury should pass upon the cause, in com- 
pliance with the letter of the law, yet that the plaintifTs 
witnesses had drawn up a verdict for Mm ; and they were, 
at the same time, unanimously of opinion, that if the jury 
hesitated a moment in confirming that verdict, or the 
court in rendering judgment upon it, that they should be 
turned neck and heels out of the court-house, according 
to law. 



CAUCUSES. 239 

This was a Caucus, and ought to have been submitted 
to without reluctance. But it is said, that the presiding 
judge, who was a vile aristocrat, committed the witnesses 
to prison for a contempt of court ; and that, on the final 
trial, the jury, who had strange notions of equal and ex- 
act justice, found a verdict for the defendant, 

Portsmouth Journal, 
August 16, 1823. 



PRINCIPLE OF SPECULATION. 



The sudden rise of merchandise during the last ten 
days, and the speculations (as they are called) which 
have heen made in consequence of it, have been the sub- 
ject of much conversation, and the question has more 
than once been asked — how far such speculations are 
justifiable. The doubt may perhaps be lessened by stat- 
ing one or two cases. 

If, in consequence of tidings from Europe, there should 
be a sudden advance in the price of cotton at New- York, 
which, it is certainly known, will produce a correspondent 
advance in Boston, is it fair in a merchant of New-York 
to send an express to Boston in anticipation of the mail, 
and purchase cotton in that city before the news of the 
increase of price could possibly be received ? A large 
portion of the mercantile world would probably answer 
this question in the affirmative. It would be called a fair 
speculation. 

If a man, passing an office in which a lottery had just 
been drawn, should be told that a certain ticlcet had come 
up the highest prize, would it be fair in him to send an 
express to the owner of that ticket and purchase it, at the 
market value of tickets, before the owner could possibly 



PRINCIPLE OF SPECULATION. 241 

be informed of his good fortune ? Tiiis question would 
probably be answered in the negative. It would be 
called overreaching, or some worse name. 

It is possible, that a distinction may be taken between 
the two cases ; but at the first view, they certainly appear 
to rest on the same principle. The owner of the cotton 
and the owner of the ticket have each an article of com- 
merce, which has at the present moment a definite market 
value. The cases thus far are alike. But in conse- 
quence of events unknown at the time to the respective 
owners, both the cotton and the lottery ticket have ac- 
quired a new value ; and the owners, ignorant of this in- 
creased value, make the sale in the belief that they are 
receiving the fair equivalent for what they part with. 
The analogy appears to hold throughout. 

The broad and safe principle appears to be that laid 
down by the virtuous Poihier. 

"Any deviation from the most exact and scrupulous sin- 
cerity is repugnant to the good faith that ought to prevail 
in contracts. Any dissimulation concerning the subject 
matter of the contract, and ivhat the opposite party has 
an interest in knowing, is contrary to that good faith." 

This principle does not at all affect the fair profits of 
trade. It is a vulgar prejudice to suppose, that what is 
a good bargain on one side, must necessarily be a bad 
bargain on the other. Commerce is an exchange of 
equal values for the purpose of bringing the products of 
industry to the hand of the ultimate consumer, and when 
conducted with skill, may be profitable on both sides. 
A shoemaker, who exchanges a pair of boots lor a hat, — 
or for five dollars, which will buy a hat, — parts with that 
21 



242 PRINCIPLE OF SPECULATION. 

which he does not want, in exchange for that which he 
does. This, which is the simplest form of trade, brings 
the article at once to the hands of the consumer. The 
articles exchanged are of equal value : but both parties 
are rewarded for their industry ; the shoemaker by a hat, 
and the hatter by a pair of boots, which they respectively 
need. 

The operations of foreign commerce, though more cir- 
cuitous, are precisely the same in principle. Equal 
values are every where supposed to be exchanged. A 
merchant, for example, ships a cargo of boards to the 
West Indies, which have cost him twelve dollars a thou- 
sand ; but by carrying them across the ocean he adds 
eight dollars a thousand to their value. And when on 
his arrival he sells them for twenty dollars and pur- 
chases coffee, he still exchanges only equal values ; and 
what he calls profit is only the increased value, which 
his industry has given to the materials of his commerce. 
On the other side, the West India planter, who has more 
coffee than he can consume, but has no boards to repair 
his house, gains by exchanging the one for the other ; 
and the result is the same, whether at his own expense 
he send coffee to America to buy boards, or whether he 
exchange his coffee in the West Indies for boards at the 
advanced price. The products of industry have been 
brought to the hands of the consumer, and both parties 
have gained by the exchange. 

Nor does the rule of Pothier exclude the advantages 
which may be derived from the exercise of diligence and 
skill. A man, in making a purchase, is not obliged to 
proclaim all that he knows respecting the fluctuations of 



PRINCIPLE OF SPECULATION. 243 

the market, or of the profitable uses to which a com- 
modity may be applied. The ordinary state of the mar- 
ket and the value of commodities are supposed to be in 
the knowledge of every person engaged in trade ; and if 
the vender of goods neglect to use the ordinary means of 
intelligence, he must suffer the consequences of his indo- 
lence. 

It has been intimated in the New York papers, that 
the southern mail was detained at Powles's Hook nearly 
two hours, to enable certain speculators to reach Phila- 
delphia and make their purchases before the arrival of 
the mail. This has called forth every where strong ex- 
pressions of indignation. The merchants of Philadelphia 
were deprived of the ordinary source of intelligence, up- 
on which they relied. They were taken unawares ; for 
no human prudence could have foreseen and guarded 
against a failure of the mail on that particular day. But 
where is the difference between stopping the mail to ef- 
fect a particular object, and sending an express in antici- 
pation of the mail ? In both cases the seller is deceived 
by trusting to the ordinary means of intelligence. 

But the subject grows upon us, and we must quit it for 
the present with the single remark, that having no mer- 
chandise to buy or sell, we are at least disinterested spec- 
tators of what is passing around us. 

Portsmouth Journal, 
April 16, 1825. 



THE CHURCH, AS DISTINCT FROM THE CON- 
GREGATION; ITS DUTIES AND MEANS OF 
USEFULNESS. 



If we look to the Scriptures for the meaning of the 
word church, we shall find it to signify, 

I. The collective body of those who were, or were 
reputed to be. Christians ; without reference to their local 
situation, or to any association among themselves. 

" As for Saul, he made havoc of the church ; " that is, 
of those who professed a belief in Christianity. 

Paul and Barnabas, in their journey from Antioch to 
Jerusalem, " were brought on their way by the church ; " 
that is, received every assistance by the way from them 
who were Christians. 

" As Christ loved the church and gave himself for it, " 
that is, his disciples, his sincere followers, wherever they 
might be. 

Of this collective body of disciples, Jesus Christ Is 
emphatically the Teacher, Governor, and Head. We 
have no word to express the precise relation between Je- 
sus Christ and his disciples. The Scriptures shadow it 
out by metaphors and comparisons, drawn from the most 
intimate relations of human life. " The husband is the 



THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 245 

head of the wife, as Christ also is the head of the church, 
and gave himself for it '' — " and he is the head of the 
body, the church " — " our Lord Jesus, that great Shep- 
herd of the sheep " — " and there shall be one fold and 
one shepherd " — " ye are now returned to the shepherd 
and bishop (or guardian) of your souls." What is meant 
by these several expressions, is very plain. The disci- 
ples of Jesus Christ must look to him for instruction and 
guidance, must regard him with the most lively gratitude 
and affection, and must rely upon him with unwavering 
confidence for their final safety. When Peter made his 
remarkable declaration, " Thou art the Christ, the Son of 
the living God, " which was the first express admission 
of his being the Messiah, Jesus answered and said, 
" Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona ; for flesh and blood 
hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in 
heaven." He then (such is the opinion of commentators 
of high repute) decla':'ed this proposition to be the only 
fundamental article of his church, so far as it was distin- 
guished from the Jewish or other churches. Consider- 
ing his church as a temple to be erected, and this single 
proposition its foundation, he calls it a rock ; " Upon 
this rock I will build my church." And, after the manner 
of the Hebrews and other oriental nations, he altered the 
name of Simon the son of Jona, to Simon Peter (for Pe- 
ter signifies rock), to perpetuate the remembrance of 
this important declaration ; just as Esau's name was 
changed to Edom (red), when he sold his birth-right for 
red pottage ; and as Jacob's name was changed to Israel 
(a contender with God), after his vision at the ford of 
Jabbok. 

21* 



246 THE NATUllE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 

If this interpretation be right, every individual of the 
human race, who can with sincerity say to Jesus, " Thou 
art the Christ, the son of the living God," is a member 
of the Christian church, and has a right to be admitted 
to the ordinances of Christianity. You will not of course 
understand me to mean, that every person who repeats 
these ivords is a member of the Christian church. He 
must adopt them sincerely ; and the only evidence he 
can give of his sincerity, is by a life correspondent to his 
professions, a life spent in obedience to the commands of 
Christ. I am perfectly certain, however, that the Scrip- 
tures do not require any other profession of faith, than 
what is contained in these words ; and happy would it 
have been for the church, if no other form had ever beea 
devised. 

II. But, secondly, there is another sense in which the 
word church is used in the Scriptures ; and that is, a por- 
tion of the general society of Christians, residing together 
in the same place, or meeting together for public worship 
in the same building. Thus we read of the church of An- 
tioch, the church of Laodicea, he, " Paul went through 
Syria confirming the churches ; " that is, encouraging 
the Christians in the several places which he visited. 
" Paul a prisoner, he. to Philemon and to the church 
in thy house " — to the Christians who assemble for pub- 
lic worship in thy house. " Salute Nymphas and the 
church in his house," — which Archbishop Newcorae 
translates, " and the congregation which assembleth in his 
house." There is nothing in the New Testament to 
mark a distinction between the church and the congrega- 
tion. It is certain the distinction did not then exist. 



THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 247 

All who professed a belief in Jesus Christ, as the Messiah, 
were Christians, and all members of the church. If 
Christianity had been preserved in the world in its origi- 
nal purity, it is probable the distinction would never have 
existed. It is not now my purpose to point out how this 
unfortunate separation has arisen ; it is sufficient to state, 
that it grew out of certain superstitious notions respecting 
baptism and the Lord's supper, on the one part, and from 
a spirit of intolerance and dogmatism on the other. A 
church may now be described as a society of Christians, 
who receive both the ordinances of baptism and the 
Lord's supper ; and a congregation, a society of Chris- 
tians, who meet for public worship, but who may, or may 
not have been baptized, and who do not receive the 
Lord's supper. 

A church is a society of Christians. As individuals, 
our duties are exactly commensurate with our ability ; 
that is, whatever we can do, to improve our own virtue, 
or to advance the virtue and happiness of others, be- 
comes at once our duty to do. It is the same with us 
in our collective capacity, as members of society in gen- 
eral, or as members of any particular association. What- 
ever we can effect by our united efforts, though surpass- 
ing our individual power, becomes at once our duty to 
effect. We cannot escape from our social, any more 
than from our individual responsibility. 

As, then, a church is a society of Christians, to ascer- 
tain the duties of a church, it is only necessary to inquire, 
what good a society of Christians can perform. When 
that question is fully answered, we shall have a catalogue 
of the duties of a Christian church. 



248 THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 

And, first, the members of a society of Christians are 
bound to cultivate good will and friendly intercourse 
among themselves. I place this at the head of our du- 
ties, both because our Saviour himself has made it the 
discriminating mark of his true followers: — " By this shall 
men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love one anoth- 
er," — and because it is one of the duties, in the perform- 
ance of which we are most negligent. A society of 
Christians should in some degree regard themselves as a 
family ; at least so far as to know the character, pursuits, 
and improvement of the several members. It is not ne- 
cessary, at least it is very seldom necessary, that there 
should be any direct interference or admonition -, but when 
there is a friendly intercourse, an indirect influence and 
control, of the most salutary kind, may be exerted. At 
all events, by such an intercourse, each individual brings 
the whole force of his example to operate ; and if his in- 
dividual conduct be such as it should be, he cannot fail 
to do good to all the members of the society. 

Another benefit would follow from such frequent in- 
tercourse. Religious conversations would arise more 
frequently and more naturally. Religious subjects are 
now often avoided with care by religious persons, be- 
cause they do not know what effect will be produced up- 
on the minds of those whom they address. But let a 
society of Christians have frequent communication, not in 
formal meetings, but in the familiar intercourse of domes- 
tic life, and each individual member will have a circle of 
friends, among whom he can speak of his Christian duties 
and employments, with as little embarrassment as at his 
own fireside. 



THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 249 

Another benefit, and one of no little importance, would 
result from this. Each member of the society would, in 
a short time, discover tbat his opinions and feelings, on 
religious subjects, differed in some particular from those 
of every other member, and this would do something to 
teach him humility and charity. A man who forms a 
system of opinions, or indulges a set of feelings in secret, 
or imbibes them from a few persons around him, insensi- 
bly learns to confide in them as free from error, and to 
make himself, his own opinions and feehngs, the stan- 
dard for others ; just as every man confides in his own 
watch, and believes it to exhibit the true time, till he car- 
ries it to a watchmaker's shop, where he will find a hun- 
dred, no two of which will go exactly alike, but all of 
which will be sufficiently accurate for the common pur- 
poses of life. 

Secondly. When the members of a Christian society 
have in this manner performed their duties towards each 
other, they will find that duties of the same kind, though 
of course less in degree, are to be performed towards all 
other Christians and Christian societies, with whom they 
have any intercourse in the affairs of life. No matter 
how widely separated by forms, or ceremonies, or creeds, 
" all that in every place call upon the name of Jesus 
Christ our Lord, both theirs and ours," should be acknowl- 
edged and treated as Christian brethren. This was the 
rule of St. Paul ; and there can be no heresy in follow- 
ing his example. But as every society of Christians, or 
at least the majority of every society, will have some 
system of faith to which they are more particularly at- 
tached, and which they believe to be in the main most 



250 THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 

free from error, it becomes their duty to make that sys- 
tem more generally known and received. They should 
therefore constantly, steadily, and perseveringly, but 
temperately, and in the spirit of Christian love, endeavour 
to propagate their opinions among other Christians. But 
there are only two ways, by whicli they are permitted to 
labor for this purpose ; the one, by simply stating the 
arguments in support of their opinions, on all proper 
occasions, when it can be done without exciting on either 
side any unchristian feelings ; and the other, and far the 
more powerful way, by living a life of more exalted vir- 
tue, thus showing the practical effects of the opinions they 
wish to propagate. 

Thirdly. But if it is the duty of a Christian society to 
endeavour to bring other Christians to what is believed to 
be a purer faith, it is far more their duty to endeavour to 
extend the limits of Christianity itself. Now what can a 
society of Christians do, to advance the cause of religion 
in a Christian country ? Can they enlarge their own num- 
ber, by individual or united effort ? Can they exercise 
a salutary influence over the congregation with whom 
they worship ? A congregation is a society of Christians, 
as well as a church, though formed of a looser texture 
and more fluctuadng materials. Can nothing be done by 
the members of a church to make them ^' not only almost, 
but altogether as themselves ? " The neglect of Chris- 
tian ordinances by the members of the congregation usu- 
ally arises from indifference, not opposition, or perverted 
belief. This indifference can be overcome only by making 
them sensible of the utility and importance of the rites 
they neglect. But how can they be persuaded of either. 



THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 251> 

if the members of the church who have enjoyed all the 

benefits of these ordinances, do not exhibit in their lives 

a superior decree of Christian virtue ? How can they 

be made zealous for Christian perfection, if those who 

have already advanced within the veil, are lukewarm or 

cold ? Let us suppose for a momeint a small society of 

Christians — such Christians as the Apostles were, but 

without their miraculous powers — placed in the midst of 

one of our lukewarm congregations. What would they 

do to promote Christianity among their neighbours ? 

Would Paul be satisfied with proving his faith by a 

monthly participation of the Lord's supper ? Would 

James believe that he " was a doer of the word, and not 

a hearer only," if he punctually received the sacraments, 

but did nothing " to convert the sinner from the error of 

his way ? " Or would the fervid Peter, who " rejoiced 

with joy unspeakable and full of glory," have nothing to 

distinguish him from the world, but that once a month he 

united with others in commemorating the death of Christ? 

It might be difficult indeed to point out the precise 

manner in which Peter and Paul and James, and others 

like them, would conduct if placed in the midst of one of 

our congregations ; but it is perfectly certain they would 

act, and with the most decisive effect. Every where, 

on all possible occasions, in season and out of season, 

they would be laboring to,> promote the great cause. 

They would never relax for a moment.. And, without 

any doubt, the fruit of their labors would be in a short 

time very apparent. Now, if members of churches do 

not at present produce this effect, it is because they do 

not possess the spirit of the Apostles ; they have not suffi- 



252 THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 

cient zeal ; they are not fervent in spirit ; they do not 
discharge their duties. 

But the members of a Christian society, heartily 
devoted to the cause of their Master, would not be 
satisfied with laboring merely among their neighbours 
and friends ; they tvould wish the Christian spirit to 
be diffused through the land ; they would anxiously 
avail themselves of any occasion to assist or confirm 
other Christian societies. Regarding themselves as parts 
of one great whole, they would feel that they had du- 
ties to perform beyond their own church and congre- 
gation ; and where their liberality could not be bestowed, 
they would at least impart their sympathy. And more 
than this ; believing it to be their duty to pray for the 
conversion of the world, they would believe it to be their 
duty to do something for the conversion of the world ; 
and whenever an attempt was made with any probability 
of success, however small, to convert the heathen na- 
tions, they would strive to forward and encourage the 
attempt. I am well aware that there is very little proba- 
bility of any heathen nation being converted to Christian- 
ity, until Christian nations are themselves converted. 
But I see no objection against attempting both together ; 
while we labor by our Sunday Schools, and Bible Socie- 
ties, and Domestic Missions to promote Christianity at 
home, we may do something, perhaps indeed very little, 
but still something, to extend the Christian religion abroad. 
At least, while there is a possibility of success, the exper- 
iment is worth trying. 

The sum of the whole matter is this. A church is a 
Christian society, and the members ought to be very 



THE NATURE AND DUTIES OF A CHURCH. 253 

intimately connected, to enjoy the full benefit of Chris- 
tian communion. The members of a church can acquire 
— and it is therefore their duty to acquire — a salutary in- 
fluence over the members of the congregation. This 
influence can be obtained and preserved only by the 
constant exercise of active virtue. They must be evident- 
ly, but not ostentatiously, more ready to every good work 
than other men ; and they must show the effects of their 
superior privileges, by their superior personal virtue. 

A Christian society is, from its very nature, a benevo- 
lent society. A church, therefore, in its collective ca- 
pacity, should be the patron, as far as possible, of every 
useful institution and of every practicable benevolent plan. 
It should be the source of light, and heat, and comfort to 
all around it. And that its influence in society may be 
preserved, it should be, whenever it can, the channel of 
benevolence, collecting and distributing the streams de- 
rived from others. But a Christian society is emphati- 
cally a society for Christian benevolence ; a church is 
therefore, from its very nature, a society for Bibles, and 
Tracts, and Sunday Schools, and Missions. It should be 
always at work ; considering attentively the state of soci- 
ety around it, and of the world at large, and directing its 
efforts to that quarter where its limited means may appa- 
rently do the most good. The members of a church 
can never aspire to Christian perfection till they regard 
it as a fundamental maxim, that whatever they can do 
for their own personal improvement, or for the good of 
mankind, by the unremitted exertion of all their faculties, 
is their duty to do, — a duty from which they cannot 
escape. 

22 



POETRY. 



ORPHEUS. 



There is a strange mixture of Paganism and Christianity in the spu- 
rious fragments which pass under the name of Orpheus, They contain 
many sublime conceptions, which could have been derived only from 
the sacred Scriptures. The unity and spirituaUty of the Deity, and his 
superiority to fate, are directly opposed to every system of Pagan my- 
thology. In the first of the fragments here translated, the use of 
ayytXoi, in the sense of heavenly messengers, fixes its date within the 
Christian era. 



FROM A FRAGMENT ASCRIBED TO ORPHEUS. 

Earth, air, and ocean own thy sway, O God, 

And high Olympus trembles at thy nod ! 

In realms of nig^t, the dead thy laws fulfil ; 

The Fates obedient execute thy will : 

Thine anger shakes the spheres. In cloud and storm, 

Mingled with fire, thou veil'st thine awful form. 

But high in heaven, beyond where planets roll. 
In life, and light, and joy beyond control, 
Where circling angels hymn thy holy praise, 
And dwell in light too strong for mortal gaze, 
Thy throne, O God, is fixed. 
22* 



258 ORPHEUS. 



PROM A FRAGMENT ASCRIBED TO ORPHEUS. 



'T IS God alone, to whom belong 
The tributes of the poet's song : 
On him corruption has no power, 
For him awaits no fatal hour. 

Terrible God, who dwelPst alone, 
Thick clouds and dark surround thy throne ; 
Yet come, in mercy's mildest form. 
Come, and my breast with rapture warm ! 

I sing thy power, which first ordained 
The world, from chaos late regained, 

1808. 



ORPHEUS. 259 



DEITY. 



TRANSLATION OF A HYMN ASCRIBED TO ORPHEUS. 



I SPEAK to ears initiate. Far removed 
Be every vulgar eye. Thou only, moon, 
Rolling full-orbed in silent majesty, 
Witness my song. I utter truths sublime ; 
Truths which the soul exalt. In mute attention 
Listen ; for I proclaim a Deity. 

The Almighty One, self-born, all-glorious, 
Exists ; Creator blest, wide nature's Sovereign, 
Invisible to mortal eye ; but he, 
Watchful, for ever guards his boundless works. 
He, of his goodness, chastens man. He sends 
War, famine, pestilence. He he alone, 
Uncounselled, governs and directs the whole. 

O come with me, my friend, adoring trace 

In all his works the footsteps of a God. 

His hand sustains, his powerful arm upholds 

Creation ; he himself invisible, 

For clouds and darkness shroud him. He, removed 

High in the heaven of heavens, dwells not with man. 



260 ORPHEUS. 

No eye can see him, save the Son beloved, 
Of wondrous origin, Chaldea's hope. 

God in the heavens resides. The rolling world, 
The star-bespangled firmament, the sun, 
Evening's mild lamp, creation's utmost bounds, 
Extended lie before him. He directs 
The ceaseless flow of ocean. He, in storms, 
Rides on the whirlwind, hurls the fire of heaven. 

God in the heavens resides. He spreads his arms 
To ocean's utmost bounds. At his approach 
The mountains tremble ; from their basis leap 
The everlasting hills. To his high power 
Earth bows submissive ; He, the first and last. 

No more. I tremble to proclaim his power. 
God, from on high, the universe sustains. 
My friend, restrain thy lips. In silent awe 
Bow, and adore the wonder-working God. 

1808. 



261 



A FRAGMENT. 



^Low sweeps the northern blast 

Along the dreary way ; 

While, from the ice-bound streams, 

The chilling moon-beams play ; 
Yet still I love to linger here, 
While sad remembrance claims a tear 
For joys, which youthful fancy brought. 
When pleasure stamped each glowing thought. 

Ah ! then what scenes arose ! 

What pleasures thrilled the breast ! 

How beamed the distant world, 

In dazzling splendor drest ! 

Ambition waked each dormant power, 
While Fancy lured me to her bower ; 
Hope's day-star beamed ; the flattering ray 
Presaged a bright, a prosperous day. 

But now the scene how changed ! 
What clouds of darkness roll ! 



262 



A FRAGMENT. 



Cold each aspiring thought j 

The winter of the soul ! 

No more my bosom swells with joy, 
No flattering scenes my thoughts employ ; 
But hopes, once fondly cherished, seem 
The phantoms of a feverish dream. 

Thou God of all, whose power 

The elements obey ; 

Save me from Passion's rage, 

From Pleasure's maddening sway ! 

Thou seest my heart with rapture glow. 
Thou seest my life-blood swiftly flow, 
When Fancy, Pleasure, Passion, fire, 
Reason too weak to rule desire. 

Ah ! when, from all illusion free, 

Shall every hope be placed in Thee I 



LINES ON FREDERIC THE GREAT. 



— " Apres ma mort, quand toutes mes parties 

Par la corruption sont aneanties. 

Par un meme destin il ne pensera plus ! " 

Frederic le Grand. 



Are these the dictates of eternal truth ? 

These the glad news your boasted reason brings ? 
Can these control the restless fire of youth, 

The craft of statesmen, or the pride of kings 1 

Whence is the throb that swells my rising breast, 
What lofty hopes my beating heart inspire ? 

Why do I proudly spurn inglorious rest, 
The pomp of wealth, the tumult of desire ? 

Is it to swell the brazen trump of fame. 
To bind the laurel round an aching head, 

To hear for once a people's loud acclaim, 
Then lie for ever with the nameless dead 1 



264 LINES ON FREDERIC THE GREAT. 

Oh no ! far nobler hopes my life control, 
Presenting scenes of splendor, yet to be ;— 

Great God, thy word directs the lofty soul 
To live for glory, not from man, but thee. 



265 



THE PURSE OF CHARITY. 



This little purse, of silver thread 

And silken cord entwined, 
Was given, to ease the painful bed, 

And soothe the anxious mind. 

The maker's secret bounty flows, 

To bid the poor rejoice. 
And many a child of sorrow knows 
The music of lier voice. 

The little purse her hands have wrought. 
Should bear her image still ; 

And with her generous feelings fraught, 
Her liberal plans fulfil. 

Its glittering thread should never daunt 

The humble child of woe ; 
But well the asking eye of want 

Its silver spring should know. 

While age or youth with misery dwell, 

To cold neglect consigned, , 
No useless treasures e'er should swell 
The purse with silver twined. 
1813. 

23 



266 



HYMN. 



Great God, at midnight's solemn hour, 
I own thy goodness and thy power ; 

But bending low before thy throne, 
I pray not for myself alone. 

I pray for her, my dearest friend, 
For her my fervent prayers ascend ; 

And while to ,thee my vows I bring, 
For her my warmest wishes spring. 

While dark and silent rolls the night. 
Protect her with thy heavenly might ; 

Thy curtain round her pillow spread. 
And circling angels guard her bed. 

Let peaceful slumbers press her eyes, 
Till morning beams in splendor rise ; 

And pure and radiant as that beam. 
Be the light vision of her dream. 



HYMN. 267 

Let each succeeding morn impart 

New pleasures to her tranquil heart ; 
And richer blessings crown the night, 

Than met the view at morning light. 

Whate'er my swelling heart desires, 

When fervent prayer to Heaven aspires, 

Whate'er has warmed my fancy's glow, 
May she, with tenfold richness, know. 

O God, may she thy laws fulfil, 

And live, and die, thy favorite still ; 
Live, to enjoy thy bounteous hand, 

And die, to join the seraph band. 

1814. 



268 



FAREWELL TO THE YEAR. 



Farewell to the year that is passing away. 

Farewell to its hopes and its fears ; 
It matters not now whether sober or gay, 

For alike are its smiles and its tears. 

Ere Spring's early blush had the blossom unclosed, 
From the home of my father I strayed ; 

On ocean's wild billows I safely reposed, 
For stronger than man was my aid. 

I wandered from cities of wealth and repose, 

To Glory's all-desolate scene ; 
Where Carnage sits bloated, and Havoc still glows, 

Where Murder and Rapine had been. 

From garden to castle, from dungeon to bower, 

My eyes were delighted to roam ; 
But stray where I would, through palace or tower. 

My heart was still beating for home. 



FAREWELL TO THE YEAR. 269 

Then hail to the home which receives me again, 

And hail to the friends who endear it ! 
And hail the New Year ! with its pleasure and pain, 

And blessings on her who 's to cheer it ! 

December 31, 1815. 



23* 



270 



AUTUMN. 



I LOVE the dews of night, 
I love the howling wind ; 
I love to hear the tempest sweep 
O'er the billows of the deep ! 

For nature's saddest scenes delight 
The melancholy mind. 

Autumn ! I love thy bower 
With faded garlands drest ; 
How sweet, alone to linger there, 
When tempests ride the midnight air ! 
To snatch from mirth a fleeting hour, 
The sabbath of the breast ! 

Autumn ! I love thee well ; 

Though bleak thy breezes blow, 
I love to see the vapors rise, 
And clouds roll wildly round the skies, 
Where from the plain, the mountains swell, 
And foaming torrents flow. 



AUTUMN. 271 

Autumn ! thy fading flowers 
Droop but to bloom again ; 
So man, though doomed to grief awhile. 
To hang on fortune's fickle smile, 
Shall glow in heaven with nobler powers. 
Nor sigh for peace in vain. 



272 



CONFIRMATION. 



While, lowly bending round the sacred shrine, 
The pious throng their common faith declare, 

Lady, a friend whose warmest wish is thine, 

Breathed to his God, for thee, this fervent prayer : 

" Soft may the dews of heavenly grace descend, 
Fill her warm heart, — wherever doomed to roam, 

From every latent snare her path defend ; 
God and good angels guide her to his home. 

" And when the morn unfolds her purple wings. 
Till sober evening spreads her mantling shade, 

May heart-felt peace, from faith and hope that springs, 
Through life's still varying scenes her breast pervade. 

*' And at the last and closing scene of life, 
May hope exulting, faith resigned, be given ; 

O spare her parting soul a painful strife, 
And short and easy be her path to heaven." 

'T was thus he prayed. Nor blame the fervent strain ; 

Cold were his heart, if silent and unmoved, 
In God's own house, it could an hour remain, 

Nor breathe its wishes for the friends he loved. 



273 



THE NEW YEAR. 



The weary traveller, destined long to roam, 

Far from his early friends and cheerful home, 

If chance, some mountain sv/ells before his sight. 

Strains every nerve, and scales its towering height ; 

One moment stops, his wanderings past to view, 

His dangers, errors, hopes, and comforts too ; 

Dwells on the spot, which Pleasure strewed with flowers, 

And shudders still at Peril's darker hours ; 

Surveys the past with sad or thoughtful mind. 

And hopes the future, — anxious, but resigned. 

Thus on the day which marks the opening year, 
Though pure our joys, and bright our hopes appear ; 
Though for our friends our warmest wishes rise. 
And earnest prayers and vows salute the skies ; 
Though gay Festivity will oft beguile. 
From Sorrow's settled gloom, a passing smile ; 
Still on the former, pensive looks we cast, 
And wish each year more happy than the last. 

More than the last ! Yes : Conscience knows too well 
The pains she suffers, but can never tell f 



274 THE NEW YEAR. 

The hours of sloth, which passed unheeded by, 
Now rise and swell before the unwilling eye. 
The hours of passion — why should Memory turn 
To hours like these, which still excite and burn ? — 
The hours of passion, be they joy or pain, 
Leave on the heart some sad or sinful stain. 

More than the last ! Ah, where was manly pride. 
By labor cherished, and to fame allied ? 
Where was the firm resolve, the noble aim. 
The vigorous effort, and the rising name ? 

In happier days, when health and sight were mine ; 
When youthful Ardor sketched the bold design ; 
When strong Ambition urged the daily toil, 
And Hope unflagging spent the midnight oil ; 
How revelled Thought, in Fancy's glowing reign ! 
— Visions of glory, rise no more in vain ! 

But, " 'T is thy will," meek Resignation cries ; 
" The shaft flies low, which aims beneath the skies ; 
There raise thy hopes, let bold Ambition tower, 
And spurn the summits of imperial power. 
Thine be the cares which dignify the good. 
Submissive passions, and a will subdued ; 
Thine be the hope which, raised to joys sublime, 
Springs from the earth, and triumphs over time." 
But has not earthly hope some favorite theme, 
Some glowing vision, some delightful dream 1 

Yes, dear , thanks to thee, one ray 

Nov^^ beams, and brightens into broader day ; 
A day of ceaseless sunshine, which no storm 
Shall e'er obscure, no passing cloud deform. 



THE NEW YEAR. 275 

When laughing Pleasure shrinks from palsied Age, 
And mirth and song no more his ear engage ; 
When tired Ambition dares his pangs avow, 
And laureled Pride unbinds his aching brow ; 
Still pure Affection lives, — her winning art 
Can warm, and fill, and animate the heart. 

Come then. Improvement, greet the opening year 
With tempered ardor, but with vows sincere ; 
Leave vain regrets, and onward urge thy course, 
With strong Decision's persevering force. 
Pursue the steep ascent by sages trod, 
And learn, from social love, the love of God ; 
With mild Affection dwell, and blessing, blest. 
Receive, and give, the sunshine of the breast. 

December 31, 1814. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



24 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



EXTRACT FROM A LETTER TO A FRIEND. 

Portsmouth, March 16, 1809. 

■^ * * I HAVE always been partial to the grand and 
solemn scenery of a mountainous country. Like most 
other persons of dull perception, 1 have been more affect- 
ed with the sublime, than the beautiful. The roaring of 
a torrent has given me more pleasure than the music of 
birds ; and I have often stopped to view the gathering of 
a storm, till 1 have been overtaken by its fury. There 
is nothing, I am firmly convinced, so favorable to genius, 
or taste, or virtue, as the contemplation of nature, either 
in her grand or beautiful appearances. Above all it is 
favorable to piety. There is no one, deserving the name 
of man, who can view " the stars in their courses," with- 
out adoring their Creator. It inspires a feeling equally 
removed from arrogance and fear. " When I consider 
thy heavens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon and 
stars, which thou hast ordained ; what is man, that thou 
. art mindful of him ! " and yet to be assured that He is 
nindful of him, conveys a happiness, that the world can- 
not give, 



280 CORRESPONDENCE. 

A few evenings ago, I took a solitary ramble out of' 
town. The stars were more brilliant than usual ; and 
they soon fixed my attention. I thought of the hour 
which awaits us all ; when I should be as little interested 
in the business of the world, as in the most distant star 
that glimmered in the heavens. I thought of the friends 
who had gone before me, and of those, more dear, whom 
I should leave behind ; but I blessed God for the hope 
of meeting them in another world. I can never believe 
that the eye, which has watched over us here, will ever 
be indifferent to our fate ; or that the heart which has 
once glowed with friendship, will ever lose its tenderness. 
The mind cannot embrace a more pleasing thought, than 
that our affections are ripening for eternity. Perhaps 
our friends are permitted to watch our conduct, to direct 
our feelings, to guide us to Heaven. Perhaps, when 
we have grasped a hand stiffened in death, that hand will 
soon be extended over us, to protect us from danger. I 
love to indulge such thoughts. They may be illusory ; 
but they destroy many of the evils of life, without dimin- 
ishing its pleasures. ^ ^ * 



Portsmouth, September, 1809. 

You must not be frightened, dear , at the appear- 
ance of large paper and close writing. I am accustomed 
to write long letters to every body ; but as you have the 
largest share of my affections, you must even take the 
most of my thoughts. Have you had no time to wri^ 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



281 



me any thing of your journey? You have travelled 
through the pleasantest part of New England, and though 
your imagination may be captivated by the description of 
European landscapes, rest assured that the banks of the 
Connecticut are equal to any thing in the world. Trav- 
ellers are apt to give the reins to fancy, and many a dull 
and barren heath has " lived in description, and looked 
green in song." You have seen Bellows Falls in Ver- 
mont. It is really a sublime object, and to the eye of 
an Englishman a wonderful one. But compare your 
own perceptions with the account given of it in Morse's 
Geography, and learn from thence to distrust the ac- 
counts of travellers. The romantic scenery of Stafford, 
were it in England, would employ the pen of a thousand 
poets, and the pencil of as many painteis. In America 
it is scarcely known, or if noticed, is soon forgotten. 1 
mention this, that you may avoid a very common error ; 
one which I entertained for many years. We are so 
much accustomed to seek perfection in Europe, that when 
we read the works of an European, we are charmed whh 
his descriptions, and think that nothing can surpass them 5 
forgetting that our chamber windows discover a prospect 
quite as beautiful and sublime. This subject deserves more 
attention. It is confessed by the most prejudiced Euro- 
peans, that, in America, the works of nature are on a 
grander scale than in the old world. An English lake 
with us would be a pond ; an English mountain would 
scarcely be called a hill ; and the Tv/eed, the Severn, 
and the Dee, (rivers immortalized by the English poets) 
in America would be brooks without a name. The con- 
sequence is, that we become so familiar with the sublime, 
24* 



282 CORRESPONDENCE. 

as to overlook the beautiful. We see no charms in a 
field of waving corn, a grove of oaks, or a sparkling 
brook, which would fill an Englishman with delight. 
One great evil results from this error ; we lose all relish 
for the works of nature, while we imagine that something 
infinitely superior to what we see is to be found in for- 
eign countries. The poets, indeed, with a natural par- 
tiality, have celebrated their native country. The ques- 
tion is not whether English scenes are beautiful, but 
whether American ones are not more so. Those who 
have seen the Lake of Constance, and the Bay of Na- 
ples, (confessedly the most beautiful scenes in Europe) 
say, that there are views in New England, at least, quite 
as beautiful. You will probably think that I have said 
enough upon this subject, bui I am anxious to convince 
you. The love of Nature never can exist, when we 
believe that we are indulging a false taste in admiring 
her. I wish you to love your country, and to impress 
its scenes deeply upon your memory. And such a 
country too ! such an admirable union of beautiful and 
sublime, of hills and valleys, of mountains and floods ! 
the heart must be cold indeed that would not love it. 

I scarcely know a more beautiful scene than the banks 
of Connecticut river at sunrise ; when the mist is rolling 
in clouds down the stream, their edges just skirted with 
gold; and amusing the fancy with the thousand fantastic 
appearances they assume. Last summer, when return- 
ing from Vermont, I often recalled the fine description 
of Dr. Beattie, and applied it to the scenery round me. 

" And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb. 
When all in mist the world below was lost. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 283 

What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime, 
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, 
And view th' enormous waste of vapor, tossed 
In billows, lengthening to th' horizon round, 
Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed ! 
And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
Flocks, herds, snd waterfalls, along the hoar profound 1 ' 

I am anxious, my dear , and even importunate, up- 
on this subject. The imagination must be cultivated, as 
well as corrected. It is susceptible o^' as much improve- 
ment as the memory or judgment. A ',7arm imagination 
and a correct taste are the best preservatives of a good 
heart and a Christian temper. Think you that the country 
girls, whom you met, enjoyed the bekuties of nature with 
half the delight that you did ? If, then, your imagination 
is already so superior, think what it might be. Think 
what an unfailing source of pleasure you may make it ; 
and above a'], think how much more susceptible of the 
best feehngj of the heart, of feehngs of devotion, an ha- 
bitual exercise of the imagination will make you. If you 
ask how this is to be done, I answer : When you are 
reading poetry, place the images before you, close the 
book, and imagine yourself looking upon a picture. If 
the description be really a good one, the image will be 
distinct, the landscape will glow before you. If you find 
yourself unable to form a distinct picture, it is a proof 
that the poetry is bad. Again, when you are enjoying a 
fine prospect, accustom yourself to discriminate its beau- 
ties ; " I am delighted with the gentle swell of that hill, 
with the waving of that tree, with the fleecy whiteness of 
that cloud, which is sailing across the sky." You will 
be surprised to find how much your pleasure will be in- 



284 CORRESPONDENCE. 

creased and your taste improved by this attention, which 
at the same time requires little or no mental effort. 

Let me advise you to recollect frequently every inci- 
dent of your journey, and, if possible, every person whom 
you have seen. It is a kind of knowledge, not very- 
brilliant indeed, but very useful. Conversation cannot 
be always either entertaining or instructive. You will 
frequently meet with persons too old, or too sober, for 
innocent gaiety, and too ignorant for improving conver- 
sation. With such persons you may pass an hour in 
talking upon subjects in which they can be interested. 
No kind of knowledge is beneath your notice. You 
niust read " Coelebs," if it falls in your way. But do 
not get into a habit of various and desultory reading. 
When you have beguii to read a book, finish it, although 
it should not be worth the perusal. The habit of read- 
ing a little in a book, and then throwing it aside, is very 
destructive to literary taste and mental improvement. It 
were better to read nothine;. ^- ^ ^ 



Conway, N. H. September 12, 1811. 

Dear , 

We have just returned from an excursion to the summit 
of the Wliite Hills. We left this house on Tuesday morn- 
ing early, accompanied by three guides, and rode twelve 
miles over the plains of Pickwaket to the last settlement 
in the town of Adams. We then dismounted, stripped 
ourselves of every thing superfluous, and exchanged our 



CORRESPONDENCE. 285 

coats for flannel jackets. Proceeding through the woods 
on foot, we crossed East River and Ellis River with sev- 
eral of their branches, and at the distance of eight miles, 
came to New River, the principal branch of the Saco. 
We forded it at the foot of the most noble cascade in 
New England. The stream is about thirty feet wide, 
and falls three hundred feet nearly perpendicular. The 
hill over which it rolls is so steep, that I had great diffi- 
culty in climbing a short distance on my hands and knees. 
At this time we began to ascend the mountain. We 
travelled in a southwesterly direction about three miles, 
continually ascending. About five o'clock we prepared 
to encamp for the night. A spot was chosen by the side 
of a brook, where there was a sufficient quantity of wood. 
By laying some poles against a tree, and covering them 
with branches of spruce, we formed a lodge, large enough 
to shelter our heads from the dew. A large fire was 
then kindled in front, and several trees set on fire around 
us, to frighten aw^ay the bears and moose, which are 
said to inhabit these mountains. We hung a brass kettle 
over the fire, and when the water boiled, made some tea 
in it, which was handed round in a tin quart. Our 
guides supped heartily on salt pork, broiled on the coals. 
As soon as it was dark, we wrapped ourselves each in a 
blanket, and lay down with our feet toward the fire, and 
our heads under the lodge. We passed a tolerably com- 
fortable night, though it was very cold, and our bed rath- 
er hard. At day-break the next morning, we took a 
hasty meal, and again ascended about two miles, to what 
is called " the end of growth." From New River up- 
wards, the trees, which were generally spruce and white 



286 CORRESPONDENCE. 

birch, continually decreased in size, until they terminated 
in shrub spruce about a foot high. From this place you 
ascend about half a mile, over the mountain cranberry and 
bunch-berry vines, to a sort of plain, which is the base of 
Mount Washington. This summit is a huge mass of rocks, 
five thousand five hundred feet high, thrown loosely togeth- 
er, without an ounce of earth or a single plant to cheer the 
barrenness of the prospect. The stones are not larger 
than those usually employed in stone walls. After two 
hours of intense labor we reached the summit. Very 
fortunately the day was clear, though a good deal of 
smoke rested on the mountains around us. My first sen- 
sation, on looking around me, was that of vastness, — a 
feeling too indistinct to be described, though too strong 
to be forgotten. On the north, our prospect was bound- 
ed by a lofty range of mountains in Canada ; on the west, 
by the Green Mountains of Vermont ; on the south, by 
Monadnock and the mountains of Massachusetts ; on the 
east and northeast, the chain of mountains upon which 
we stood was continued as far as the eye could trace 
them. We could not discern the ocean, though on very 
clear days it is visible. We saw at a distance Lake 
Winnipisiogee, over which a cloud of vapors was roll- 
ing ; and we traced the course of the Connecticut, Ame- 
riscoggin, and Saco by the fogs which rested upon them. 
Of these rivers, the Ameriscoggin, though most distant, 
appeared the largest. The summit of Mount Washing- 
ton is supposed to be above ten thousand feet above the 
level of the ocean. It is so continually surrounded with 
clouds, that our principal guide, who had been up eight 
times, jiever but once before was able to discern any 



CORRESPONDENCE. 287 

object more than ten rods distant. It was perfectly fair 
while we remained upon it, and not very cold. We saw 
the vapors rise from the rivers below us in distinct masses ; 
they quickly attracted each other, formed clouds, and 
rolled up the sides of the mountain with astonishing ra- 
pidity. We spent about an hour upon the summit, when 
our extreme thirst obliged us to descend. This was a 
perilous attempt ; for a single false step would have hur- 
ried us to the foot of the mountain. Where we met any 
moss, we slid over it, and crept over the rocks on our 
hands and knees. We arrived at the region of dwarf 
spruce about one o'clock, without accident. Snatching 
a short meal, we continued our descent through the 
woods, which we effected so rapidly, that we arrived at 
New River by three o'clock. Finding ourselves not 
much fatigued, we hastened through the forest, mounted 
our horses, and rode home before eight o'clock, having 
travelled fifty-two miles, twenty-six of them on foot, over 
the loftiest mountain in New England. f * ^^ ^ 

f Mr. Haven twice made an excursion to the White Moun- 
tains ; the first time in 1811, with a party of gentlemen, when 
he ascended Mount Washington; the second time in 1814, 
when he travelled with ladies and gentlemen. 



^88 CORRESPONDENCE. 



WRITTEN IN EXPECTATION OF VISITING EUROPE, 
IN APRIL, 1812. 



My dear 



Till the hour of separation approached so near, 
I was hardly aware how much I loved you. Though I 
may have sometimes been impatient, it has always been 
my warmest wish to see you happy, and happy too froin 
your own resources, independent of external circumstan- 
ces. I cannot give you a stronger proof of affection, 
than by pointing out freely and explicitly what I think 
your faults and your dangers, which appear to me to 
arise from the same source. * * -^^ You have a heart 
formed for friendship and affection ; and I pray most fer- 
vently, that your best feelings may never be chilled by 
indifference or unkindness. But, at present, your sensi- 
bility is too acute for your happiness. You must be 
content to live with your companions, in the habitual ex- 
ercise of kindness and civility, without expecting very 
strong affection in return, and you must never suffer 
yourself to sink into gloom or despondency. When you 
find that your mind dwells upon melancholy images, and 41 
that the efforts you make to change the current of your ' 
thoughts are unsuccessful, it is time to resort to other 

remedies, — to exercise, to social intercourse, but, above |: 

ii 

all, to prayer. To cultivate cheerfulness and tranquillity 
of mind is as much a religious duty, as to preserve moral 
honesty. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 289 

In your literary pursuits, read but few works of imagi- 
nation. Your imagination, at present, needs no excite- 
ment ; but if you read poetry (as you doubtless will), 
beware of the fashionable sing-song of the day. Good 
poetry is a rare article ; and good taste almost as uncom- 
mon. If you read much of what daily issues from the 
press, which has scarcely any pretensions even to rhyme, 
you will lose all power of discrimination. Rhyme is not 
poetry. Think of this when you take up a volume of 
poems, and you will soon find how small the number is of 
those who deserve that title. Milton and Pope are the 
two great masters of English verse. If you can read and 
relish these, you are safe. You may then read Words- 
worth and Southey and Robinson, — if you can. I am 
particularly earnest in this. A good taste is the guard- 
ian of good morals. If you love to read Milton, you will 
love all that is great and sublime in nature and art. Mil- 
ton's imagination is always full ; and whatever may be his 
subject, he never fails to fill the imagination of his read- 
ers. But I would not conceal from you his faults. In 
reading the " Paradise Lost," you will frequently lose 
your interest in the poem. The ostentation of learning 
will disgust you, and the long metaphysical disquisitions 
will fatigue your patience. But these are spots on the 
sun. I do not know a greater pleasure than that of 
reading over, for the thousandth time, some exquisite 
passage of poetry. But read and judge for yourself. 

Pope is the poet of common sense, and, in my opinion, 

the prince of harmony. Succeeding poets attempted to 

improve upon his versification ; but they lost his strength, 

^ and substituted a kind of drawling monotony, about as 

25 



290 CORRESPONDENCE. 

musical as a tune with one note. Goldsmith and Rogers 
have made their verses exceedingly smooth, but Darwin 
and his whole tribe of imitators are absolutely insuffera- 
ble. * * * 

I do not intend always to write to you in this style of 
instruction. But I wish my letters to be of some advan- 
tage to you. I have thrown together these few remarks 
without any premeditation, and without reading what I 
have written. Place your happiness in possessing a well 
regulated mind and imagination, and in cultivating the 
affections of your family. While you are resigned under 
inevitable evils, endeavour to be cheerful even amid the 
trials of life, and I am confident you will be both virtuous 
and happy. 

Farewell, and may God bless you. 



1812. 

■ You have often complained of the treachery of your 
memory. Though I do not give entire credit to your as- 
sertions, for I believe that your humility has misled your 
judgment, I offer for your use a few remarks, which my 
own experience had suggested. A moment's reflec- 
tion will convince you that memory depends upon 
attention. Every thing connected with the passions is 
long remembered because deeply felt. For the same 
reason, whatever is new or uncommon will be remem- 
bered, as novelty creates a temporary interest, which 



CORRESPONDENCE. 291 

rouses the attention. The great difficulty is to excite, 
and fix it, at our pleasure. It is not always in our own 
power I confess, to attend to any particular object ; but 
repeated exertions will certainly succeed. Lord Bacon 
has remarked, that we commit a poem to memory sooner, 
by reading it three or four times with an attempt to re- 
peat it after each, than by reading it a dozen times with- 
out such exertion. Attention, too, depends much upon 
habit. The great mischief of novel-reading, beside the 
misimprovement of time, is, that it accustoms our minds 
to receive ideas without exertion. In reading a novel, 
we attend to little beside the narrative ; and we are gene- 
rally satisfied, if we keep up the thread of the story to 
the end of the volume. This pernicious habit we carry 
with us to our serious studies ; and we frequeatly close a 
volume of history, as ignorant of its contents, as if it were 
the lightest novel that ever issued from the press. 

You must not be discouraged, if, on commencing a 
new study, you find your memory apparently dull and 
treacherous. The mind does not easily accommodate it- 
self to a new class of objects ; but if you continue your 
exertions, you will find its reluctance to be every day 
diminished, if there is anything which you are peculiar- 
ly apt to forget, determine to remember it by every pos- 
sible means. Connect it with something which you will 
certainly remember, and endeavour not to think of the one 
without recalling the other. 

I cannot urge upon you too strongly the importance of 
cultivating general habits of attention. Give your whole 
mind to whatever is the business of the hour. Read noth- 
ing that you are not determined to remember, and there- 



292 CORRESPONDENCE. 

fore read nothing that is not worth remembering. I am > 
not certain that absolute idleness is not better, for every 
intellectual purpose, than indolent reading. '' Nothing," 
says Stewart, " has such a tendency to weaken, not only 
the powers of invention , but the intellectual powers in 
general, as a habit of extensive and various reading with- 
out reflection." The divided attention we often give to 
discourses at church, is a habit very injurious to the mem- 
ory. We suffer our imagination to make a short excur- 
sion, and then recall it to the sermon, without seriously 
determining to follow one or the odier. In this irresolute 
state, we neither attend to our own thoughts nor to the 
preacher ; and we return liome with our ideas confused, 
and our impressions too iudlsdnct to be remembered. 

has often asked me, " What shall I attempt to 

remember ? In reading a book, what principle of selection 
shall I adopt ? " In reply I have told her, that the end 
of study was not so much to treasure up particular facts, 
as to obtain an active and vigorous mind. It is of little 
consequence to you, as a daughter or a friend, to know that 
Alexander conquered, and that Caesar died ; but it is of 
importance, that you should have an elegant taste, a cor- 
rect judgment, and an active, inquisitive mind. You 
learn to dance, not to figure in a ball-room, but to acquire; 
graceful habits. You read, not to have an opportunity o: 
talking about books and displaying your learning, but to 
have a well disciplined miud for the ordinary business of 
life. For this reason I have thought, that well written 
biography was of more pracUcal benefit than history. 
From the lives of eminent men, you can collect many 
hints for your own conduct, and many rules which may- 
be reduced to daily practice. 



i 



CORRESPONDENCE. 293 

But history, which relates the political lives of men, is 
chiefly designed to form the statesman. It has its use, 
however to all. It affords an agreeable entertainment, ex- 
ercises the passions, forms the judgment, furnishes senti- 
ments of virtue and impresses upon the mind maxims of 
morality. You will therefore make the best use of history, 
when you consider it as a picture of the living world ; 
when you reflect upon the conduct of men of other times, 
and other countries, as you discuss the characters of your 
acquaintance. 

In reading a volume of history, it is not all-important 
to remember the series of kings nor the dates of battles. 
It is best not to neglect these entirely ; but your attention 
should be chiefly direc^d to the changes of manners and 
opinions, to the progress of knowledge, of toleration, and 
refinement, and to the effect which these have severally 
produced upon the morals and happiness of man- 
kind. * * * 



Vale of Llangollen, North Wales, May 19, 1815. 

This day has been so rich in enjoyment, my dear 
■, that I cannot go to bed, without attempting to 



make you acquainted with it, while the impression is still 
fresh upon my mind. I pass over, for the present, eve- 
ry thing which has taken place from our arrival at Liver- 
pool, on the twelfth, to last evening. About five o'clock, 

yesterday afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. and 

25^ 



294 CORRESPONDENCE. 

myself set out in two post-chaises from Chester, the most 
ancient city in England. At dusk we reached Holywell, 

where, we passed the night. Early this morning, 

and myself visited the Well of St. Winifred, which 

gives the name to the town. It is the most beautiful 
spring I ever saw, and wells out with astonishing rapidity. 
The printed account (believe it who will) says, it throws 
out one hundred tons of water in a minute. The legend 
is very ridiculous ; but I will endeavour to abbreviate it. 
The valley was formerly very dry and sandy ; so much 
so, that it was called by a Welch name, which signifies 
'> the dry vale." It was inhabited by a pious Bishop, 
named Beuno, who built a church at the bottom of the 
hill. His niece Winifred consecijated herself to the ser- 
vice of God, and vowed never to marry. She was how- 
ever addressed by a Pagan prince, named Cradoc, who, 
finding her obstinate in her refusal, was so enraged, that 
he pursued her to the top of the hill, and then severed 
her head from her body, with one blow of his sword. 
The head rolled down into the valley, and when it stopped, 
this beautiful spring gushed out and washed away the 
blood. Bishop Beuno, being a man of great sanctity, * j 
took up the head and carried it to the body, to which it 
was immediately united. The impious Cradoc was swal- j 
lowed up by an earthquake ; while the body of St Wini- 
fred survived the catastrophe five years. All this, you 
will say, is but fiction. What follows is real. Over the 
well is erected a beautiful gothic building of red stone, 
which was built by the Countess of Richmond, the moth- 
er of Henry the Seventh. The roof is most exquisitely 
carved. The building is about thirty or forty feet in di^ 



CORRESPONDENCE. 295 

ameter, and about twenty feet high. The water is the 
most pellucid I ever saw, and is celebrated for the cure 
of various diseases ; but it is most remarkable for giving 
uncontrolled authority in married life. Whatsoever man 
or woman, says the legend, shall first drink of this water, 
immediately acquires unlimited sway at home. Unfortu- 
nately its efficacy is confined to married people ; I drank 
freely, however, by way of prevention. 

After breakfast we left Holywell and proceeded to Den- 
bigh. The modern town stands at the foot of a steep 
and precipitous hill, on the top of which are the ruins of 
Denbigh Castle, which are visible for several miles on 
every side. The outer wall of the castle, which inclosed 
the old town, is nearly two miles in circumference. Large 
masses of it remain in four or five different places. The 
front gate of the castle is still entire, and is from nine to 
twelve feet thick. Three or four towers also remain, 
and one of the gate-ways of the old town. It is a most 
magnificent ruin. The castle was built by Edward the 
First, in 1280, and overlooks the whole Vale of Clwyd, 
which extends twenty-six miles in length, and lies far, 
very far, below the castle. We next proceeded through 
this paradise, which is more exquisitely beautiful than any 
language of mine can describe, to Ruthin. Here we 
found the ruins of another magnificent castie, covering 
perhaps twenty acres, which was built by Roger Gray, in 
the reign of Edward the Fourth. From Ruthin we as- 
cended the mountains about seven miles, till we had left 
grass and cultivation far behind us, and found only quar- 
ries of slate-stone and mountain heather. As soon as we 
began to descend, we saw the splendid remains of the 



296 CORRESPONDENCE, 

Abbey Crucis, which was formerly a spacious monastery. 
One window remains, a most exquisite monument of 
Gothic taste and skill. We spent an hour in examining it. 
I saw a small hole in the wall, and entering it discovered 
a winding stair-case, which led up into a small tower ; 
forty-seven steps were perfectly entire, and I was able to 
spring from them upon the ruins of the wall. A part of 
the ruins are covered with a roof, and occupied as sta- 
bles, .by a farmer who lives in an adjoining cottage. A 
new portion of the ruins has lately been discovered and 
cleared from the rubbish which covered them. The ride 
from Ruthin to Llangollen was admirable, alternately 
sublime and beautiful, — barren mountains, naked rocks, 
and cultivated valleys. 

I have just been interrupted by a Welsh harper, who 
came with his instrument and begged permission to play 
a few airs to us. It was indeed delightful, and soon melt- 
ed Mrs. to tears. I wish you could have heard 

him, and still more . The place, the time 

(a moonlight night), the instrument, would have raised 
her even beyond her natural enthusiasm. Our musi- 
cian is said to be the best harper in Wales. 



Shrewsbury, May 20. 

1 THOUGHT, dear , that nothing could exceed my 

enjoyment yesterday, but this day has surpassed it. This 



CORRESPONDENCE. 297 

morning we proceeded through the Vale of Llangollen a 
few miles, till we reached the Ellesmere canal, which 
joins the Severn and the Dee. It crosses the Vale of 
Llangollen on an aqueduct or bridge of cast iron, one 
thousand and eight feet in length, and elevated one 
hundred and thirty-two feet above the valley below; 
through which the river Dee flows immediately under the 
aqueduct, where it forms a small cascade. The aque- 
duct is supported by nineteen stone pillars of a light color. 
The landscape, as seen from the centre of this aqueduct, is 
beautiful beyond description. On one side, on a lofty 
and apparently inaccessible crag, stands Castle Dinas 
Bran ; on the opposite side, two beautiful villages. 

The richness and cultivation of the vale is finely con- 
trasted with the darkness and barrenness of the moun- 
tains, five of which show their bald summits in the hori- 
zon. Upon leaving the vale we visited Chirk Castle, the 
ancient seat of the Middletons. Here all our early 
dreams of romance were realized. The castle is above 
five hundred years old, and is in perfect repair ; though 
part of it is of comparatively modern date, having been 
battered by Oliver Cromwell, but repaired after the res- 
toration. The drawing-room and dining-room are more 
to my taste than the splendid apartments of Lord Gros- 
venor, of which I must tell you when I come home. The 
old banqueting room is full of portraits ; among others 
James the Second and Charles the Second, by Sir God- 
frey Kneller ; Mary, Queen of Scots ; and the old family 
portraits. Our attention was arrested by a very demure 
countenance, with a staid cap. " What nun is that ? " 
" Nun ! " exclaimed our guide, a very intelligent old lady. 



298 CORRESPONDENCE. 

" No nun she ! She had seven husbands, and one of 
them was a Mid die ton. She was a sister of Owen Tudor, 
and when she rode to the funeral of one of her husbands, a 
friend who sat with her, determined to be in season, and 
ventured to propose himself. She regretted exceedingly 
that she was already engaged ; but told him, if such a 
melancholy occasion again occurred, she would think of 
him." 

We spent some time in the chamber in which Charles 
the First slept the evening before the battle of Chester. 
The bedstead, the curtain, and the tapestry remained as 
they then were. There were doors concealed behind the 
arras, staircases in the wall, and all the apparatus of an 
ancient castle. The story we heard of the family was 
melancholy. The male line is now extinct; and this 
castle, as well as Ruthin Ca«tle, and Denbigh Castle, and 
forty thousand pounds per annum, belongs to three sisters, 
who are quarrelling with each other ; and, to vent their 
malice upon each other, are cutting down their oaks and 
dilapidating their castles. There is a splendid gate at 
the entrance of wrought iron, made by a single man at 
Chester, which cost him seven years of labor. It is 
wonderfully fine. 



Birmingham, May 20. 

We have just arrived at this toy-shop of Europe, but, 
in our passage here, we have passed through a region of 



CORRESPONDENCE. 299 

barrenness, of fire and smoke, which fully justifies Espri- 
ella's account. " If you were to ride here by night," 
said a coachman to Professor Silliman, " you would fancy 
yourself going to hell." At Bilston, about ten miles back, 
we had a little foretaste of Pandemonium. I shall write 
again as soon as I reach London, which will be in a week 
or ten days. * ^ * 



London, June 6, 1815. 

This is a miserable life my dear , paying and re- 
ceiving visits, gazing at strange sights, and feeling, in a 
crowd, all the loneliness of a desert, without any of its 
charms. Our little tour in Wales was delightful beyond 
description ; but even beautiful prospects become familiar 
to the eye, and before we reached London, I began to 
long for quiet hours and regular employment. In Lon- 
don I hoped to get a few books about me, and to divide 
my time, as I had been accustomed, between books and 
society ; but I am disappointed, and instead of literary 
leisure, I am obliged, at this moment, to gain time to 
write to you by giving up a visit to Westminster Abbey. 

has gone with and Mr. and Mrs. , and 

I have very gladly made a cold an excuse for not accom- 
panying them. Do not suppose that I intend to leave 
the country without seeing it ; though I must confess, my 
enthusiasm for fine buildings is very much abated. If one 
could visit these splendid monuments of ancient times, 



300 CORRESPONDENCE. 

alone, or in company with an intelligent friend, one might 
indulge all the solemn recollections connected with the 
buildings. But you are hurried through them, by some 
paltry shilling-guide, who repeats, in a tone of recitation, 
some ridiculous legend, to which you are obliged to listen, 
and which effectually destroys the solemnity of the scene. 
These guides are accustomed to repeat these tales per- 
haps twenty times a day, to successive visiters, for as 
many years, and they will neither stop nor answer any 
questions, till the story is ended. At the Tower I at- 
tempted to check the current of the fellow's narrative, by 
asking him questions, till he became angry. " Sir, if you 
will have patience, 1 will tell you all that I know. Gentle- 
men who visit the Tower do not generally disbelieve what 
I say." I stopped a moment to attempt to recall what I 
had read about the Tower. " Sir, I see there is more 
company below, waiting to come up ; we must make 
haste." And so we were hurried on. 

London has, in general, fallen much below my expec- 
tations ; — indeed, they were so indefinite, that I hardly 
knew what to expect. The private buildings are very 
ordinary, even at the West end of the town. I have seen 
no house in London, which in its external appearance, is 

equal to Governor 's, Mr. 's, or even 's, 

in Boston. Mr. 's house would be remarked for its 

beauty in any square of the city. The bricks are of a 
brown, dirty color, approaching nearer to yellow than 
red ; and in their general appearance the streets of West- 
minster are much inferior to those of Philadelphia. At 
the West end, the streets are broad and straight ; but in 
the *' City," as it is technically called, they are generally 



CORRESPONDENCE. 301 

as narrow, dark, and dirty, as street. The multi- 
tudes in the streets, too, are not so great as I exp^ted. 
I have seen State-street in Boston as crowded as Ludgate 
Hill or the Strand. Many of the public buildings, con- 
sidered separately, are very beautiful 5 but I have seen 
not one, whose whole effect was powerful. Even St. 

Paul's is by no means so striking as . It is 

so surrounded by other buildings, is so blackened with 
dirt, and is seen through such a smoky atmosphere, that 
nothing but its immense size prevents its being passed 
without observation. Of the theatres, — the front of 
Covent Garden is very handsome ; but Drury Lane is a 
shapeless pile of bricks, as blank and as destitute of or- 
nament as a distillery. So much for the unfavorable side. 
There are some things in which London is better than 
hope. The squares which are scattered through the 
West end of the town, are very beautiful, either planted 
with trees or laid out as ornamental gardens. They are 
surrounded with an iron railing, and access to them is 
permitted only to certain inhabitants in the neighbourhood, 
who are furnished with private keys. We live in the im- 
mediate vicinity of two of these squares, and I am not 
unfrequently awaked in the morning by the singing of 
"the birds. 

Another thing worthy of praise in London, is the tran- 
quillity of the streets. Every man seems to pursue his 
own business in quiet. There are no brawls and no 
swearing in the streets. I have been in many different 
parts of the city as late as eleven o'clock, and I have 
never yet heard any profaneness or witnessed any riot. 
Mr. P , a friend to whom introduced me, told 



302 CORRESPONDENCE. 

me, that drinking and swearing were almost banished 
from respectable company ; and fortunately the mob is 
disposed to follow the fashion. The equipages of the 
great people are by no means so splendid as I expected. 
I have rarely seen more than two horses even in the ducal 
chariots. The well-dressed people in public places are 
not much better clothed, than the higher classes in our 
own country. They seem to waste their wealth in the 
luxury of servants, more than in any other channel. The 
coachmen and footmen are frequently dressed in the most 
fantastic and gaudy colors imaginable ; and at the doors 
of the houses of fashionable people, you see two or three 
young men, lounging upon the steps, with powdered hair, 
white stockings, epaulettes, plush small clothes of scarlet 
or yellow, and frequently embroidered waistcoats, with no 
employment for hours, but that of displaying their own 
pretty persons and their master's wealth. 

But, with all this disappointment, I have seen one ob- 
ject which very unexpectedly excited my highest admi- 
ration and astonishment. It is the tobacco warehouse in the 
London dock. This is a building about fifteen feet high, 
but covering upwards of five acres of ground. The roof 
is supported by cast-iron pillars, and is covered with 
shingles of cast-iron, instead of slate. Under the whole 
of this immense building is a cellar, in which several 
hundred rows of arches, intersecting one another every 
twenty or thirty feet, support a stone roof, forming the 
floor of the warehouse above. We provided ourselves 
with torches, and our whole party walked through it. 
We almost imagined ourselves in the catacombs of Egypt ; 
and if sixteen thousand pipes of wine, which lay around 



CORRESPONDENCE. 303 

US, could have been converted into so many mummies, the 
illusion would have been complete. It is said that the 
Emperor Alexander expressed more admiration at this 
and at the warehouse than at any thing else he had seen 
in England. 

I have visited most of the great book-stores, but have 
in every instance been disappointed in their appearance. 

They are generally not larger than that of ! The 

books are kept in warehouses, and only specimens placed 
in shops. I have ventured to purchase even more than 
I intended when I left home. In doing this, I believed I 
was consulting your taste as well as my own, and that 
you would be willing to retrench a few luxuries in fur- 
niture, Sic. to have at command a valuable domestic 
library. 

Wednesday, June 7. 

I have just had a proof of the fallacy of human judg- 
ment. This has been a clear morning, with a fine pure 
air ; and in passing by St. Paul's I was struck with the 
injustice of my former remarks. It is indeed a wonderful 
building, — worthy of the nation which erected it, and of 
the city in which it stands. It was intended that Sir 
Christopher Wren, the architect, should be buried under 
the centre of the dome. I have seen in some magazine 
the following epitaph proposed for him. " Hie jacet, &z;c. 
— Si monumentum quaeritis, circumspiciatis." " Here 
lies Sir Christopher Wren, &ic. — Do you ask for his 
monument .'' Look around you." 



304 CORRESPONDENCE. 

There are no new books of any peculiar merit here, 
except a journal of travels through England by a French- 
man. 

I have just received a letter from , announcing 

his arrival at Liverpool, after a passage of twenty-six 
days. He has not yet determined whether Liverpool or 
Manchester is to be his place of residence. Whichever 
it be, I shall spend some time with him this summer, for I 
am heartily tired of London ; and if Edinburgh does not 
afford more pleasure, I shall wish myself on the ocean 
before September. 

You must set down most of the dulness and incoher- 
ence of this letter to a stupid headach, which has fastened 
upon me these three days. 



London, June 21, 1815. 



My dear 



It seems has anticipated me in the most in- 
teresting subjects for a letter, St. Paul's, Westminster 
Abbey, and Lord Byron, and has left me nothing but 
pictures, wild beasts, and Lady Banks ; but I will see 
what I can do without them. Soon after I came to town, 

and I wandered down to St. Paul's to attend a 

general meeting of the charity children of the city, where 
a sermon was to be preached for their benefit. We ex- 
pected nothing, but, as all the world appeared to be going, 
we joined the multitude, and by the assistance of a guinea 



CORRESPONDENCE. 305 

secured a place almost Immediately under the dome. 
We found a temporary pulpit erected in the centre, and 
nearly eight thousand children seated on circular benches 
round it, rising one above another like an amphitheatre. 
They were all dressed in uniform, varying in color and 
shape in the different parishes, but agreeing in some gen- 
eral points. The litde girls had mob caps of linen, linen 
handkerchiefs pinned over the bosom, and linen aprons, 
— coarse, indeed, but perfectly white and clean. Their 
gowns were of coarse gingham, like our country manu- 
facture, of blue, yellow, drab, red (one class of girls be- 
longed to the Lobster school, so named from the color of 
their clothes). The boys were dressed in long coats, 
single-breasted, breeches, and shoes, with what we call a 
clergyman's band round the neck. Both boys and girls 
constantly wear a pewter medal sewed to the clothes, 
designating the parish and class to which they respective- 
ly belong. In the parish in which our lodgings are situ- 
ated (St. George's Bloomsbury), I counted one hundred 
and ninety-seven of these children, all under twelve years 
of age. The services commenced with an anthem sung 
by the children. Their voices not only filled the dome, 
but were echoed back with a loudness and shrillness that 
was painful to the ear. To our great surprise, when a 
hymn was afterwards sung by the whole choir of the 
church, accompanied by the organ, only a few faint and 
imperfect sounds reached us. The voice of the preach- 
er was entirely lost ; it ascended perhaps to the good 
angels above, but, though we could see him open his 
mouth with great energy, there was not a sound to con- 
vince us that he was not gasping the while. We stayed 
26* 



306 CORRESPONDENCE. 

till the children had sung the coronation anthem. The 
words, " O Lord, bless the King, — may the King live for 
ever, for ever, for ever," were sung in different parts, and 
taken up by the children successively, so that the song 
echoed round the dome like the different notes of a musi- 
cal instrument. 

Pleasing as the sight was (and it affected us both 
powerfully), I could not help entertaining some doubts of 
its moral effect. The poor, who are always improvident, 
are shown, at once, the extent of the public charity ; 
they see an immense number of children taken from the 
lowest abodes of wretchedness and guilt, better clothed, 
as well fed, as healthy and as happy, as the children of 
the middling class of manufacturers. They know that 
when they die, the parish must support their children ; and 
the horror of leaving them dependent upon public charity 
is much abated by their appearance on these gala days. 
They naturally enough remember more of the holiday 
suits of the children than of their every-day dress ; and 
they think, that if they do spend their daily earnings in 
intemperance and prodigality, instead of accumulating 
something for the education and maintenance of their 
children, its only effect will be, to add two or three more 
to the happy thousands who are annually assembled at 
St. Paul's. 

We went this morning to a meeting of the West Ijon- 
don Lancasterian Association, in the expectation of see- 
ing Sir James Mackintosh, who was to preside ; but, to 
our great disappointment, he was too sick to attend. His 
place was supplied by a Mr. Edward Wakefield, who 
delivered a short and tolerably good address on tHe ad- 



CORRESPONDENCE. 307 

vantages of a general diffusion of knowledge ; but he 
complained much of want of patronage and a want of 
personal exertion in the members of the Association. 
He told us it was his first attempt at public speaking, and, 
considering that he was very much frightened, it was well 
enough. He was followed by Dr. Lindsay, the Unitari- 
an, who, as well as Mr. Wakefield, interlarded his dis- 
course with political allusions, that were received with 
great applause by the audience. A resolution offered by 
Dr. Lindsay was seconded by a young man, whose name 
we did not hear, but who appeared to be well read in the 
poets. He delivered a discourse in a very animated 
style upon love, marriage, domestic happiness, universal 
philanthropy, and the children in Ireland. He told us, that 
if the children of the poor were educated, every thorn 
would be removed from the rose of domestic bliss, and 
the couch of connubial affection would be strewed with 
flowers, — and so forth, to the end of the chapter. He 
too could not deliver his poetry without a slight touch at 
his Majesty's ministers. It is this propensity to make 
every meeting an occasion of polhical discussion, that 
alienates the good will of many, and effectually prevents 
the patronage of government, if it had otherwise a dis- 
position to bestow it. 

We left the house without hearing any more. I learn- 
ed from some documents, which I saw there, a few facts 
which may interest you. A clergyman at Manchester, 
examining the registers of the collegiate church at that 
place for six years, namely, from January 1, 1807, to 
December 31, 1812, found from the signatures, that so 
many as nine thousand seven hundred and fifty-six per- 



308 CORRESPONDENCE. 

sons had been married within that period, who were not 
able to write their own names ! In one city ! And En- 
gland is the land of knowledge and refinement ! In 
Scotland one person in every twenty thousand two hun- 
dred and seventy-nine is committed to prison yearly for 
trial ; in England, one person in every one thousand nine 
hundred and eighty-eight. The whole number commit- 
ted yearly for trial in England, according to the statement 
of Colquhoun (whose accuracy has never been question- 
ed), is twelve thousand one hundred and seventy-two, in 
a population of Httle more than ten millions ! The aver- 
age number of persons sentenced to death yearly in En- 
gland, for seven years, ending in 1811, was three hundred 
and seventy-five. From the reports of various commit- 
tees connected with the Lancasterian Society, and the 
British and Foreign School Society, it appears, that in 
England not more than one person in eight can read and 
write ! And yet England is the land of taste and culti- 
vation, the seat of the arts, and the chosen residence of 
all that is great and excellent in genius and learning ! So 

we think ; but believe me, dear , England is like 

one of those sunny spots which we sometimes see on the 
side of a mountain, fresh, verdant, and blooming, as if 
covered with flowers ; we admire it at a distance, but 
when we approach, we find it cold, desolate, and barren. 
With England, as I fear with every thing else, " 'T is 
distance lends enchantment to the view." One fact more, 
and I have done. It has been ascertained, that, in Great 
Britain and Ireland, one million seven hundred and fifty 
thousand children every year arrive at an age capable of 
instruction, without receiving the least, and grow up in 



CORRESPONDENCE. 309 

total ignorance. Do you not thank God that you are not 
daily a witness of so much ignorance and guilt ? 

When I have attended places of public amusement, I 
have mingled as much as possible, with the multitude, 
both the gentry and the mob, to ascertain, as much as 
possible, the state of moral feeling among them. It is 
such as you would expect from the statement I have 
made above. We witnessed last night at Drury Lane a 
comedy of Beaumont and Fletcher's, which was received 
with extravagant applause, but which I do think, for the 
honor of my native country, would not have been toler- 
ated on the Boston stage. Even the ladies joined in the 
plaudits, and dapped their hands outrageously, when 
Kean, their favorite actor, uttered expressions for which 
a gentleman would have been driven from all decent 
society. This they call taste and refinement ! Thank 
Heaven, we have none of it. 



London, June 22, 1815. 

* * * Yesterday morning we went to visit Lord 
Elgin's marbles, — the collection of plunder which he 
brought from Athens. It was not without indignation and 
regret that I saw it. He has brought away detached or- 
naments, pieces of sculpture, broken statues, capitals of 
pillars, parts of fluted columns, fragments of tomb-stones 
and votive inscriptions, which were all beautiful in their 
places, and, connected with the spot in which they were 



310 CORRESPONDENCE. 

found, must have excited the deepest interest and the 
highest enthusiasm ; but brought away in broken masses, 
and deposited in the centre of London, they affect you 
no more than so many casks of lime made in Athens. 
To complete your disgust, you are shown a drawing of 
the Parthenon, and the Temple of Jupiter, and are told, 
that this horse's head was taken from the front, that that 
capital was torn from the portico, that the high relief 
which you admire formed the architrave, that the frag- 
ment of a foot, so delicately formed, was wrested from 
that group, — in one word, that all you see was plundered 
and carried away, lest the Turks should do the same! 
You will better understand Lord Elgin's motives, when 1 
tell you, that he was the British Embassador to Turkey ; 
that he employed all the means, which his official situation 
gave him, to complete this work of plunder ; and that 
he now offers his collection to Parhament, for the modest 
sum of fifty thousand pounds ! It is true, that it cost him 
a large sum to transport them to England ; and one can- 
not but lament, that so much money should have been so 
unprofitably employed. It was his folly, and he ought to 
suffer for it. But, after all, I cannot discover the great 
value of these marbles. Not a single piece is perfect. 
You see the body of a man, without a face or an arm ; 
the mouth and lips of a female figure, without the upper 
part of the head ; and the piece which has been most 
admired here, is the head of a horse, without any under 
jaw, with no nostrils or ears, but one eye, and half the 
crest of the mane broken off. If they were wanted as 
models of sculpture, casts could easily have been taken 
of them, at Athens ; and architects would better improve 



CORRESPONDENCE. 311 

their taste by seeing a drawing of a whole temple, than 
by examining an unwieldy block of marble, which once 
formed part of a column. 1 should suspect myself of 
want of taste, if I were not supported in my opinion by 

and , who have sufficient enthusiasm for every 

thing Grecian ; by , who has no moderate feelings 

upon any subject; and by , who has a high relish 

for all the pleasures of taste. Yet Mr. West speaks with 
admiration of these marbles, and Mrs. Siddons fainted, 
or affected to faint, with emotion, at the sight of them. 
They reminded me of a story in Hierocles ; — a man had 
a palace to sell, and by way of recommending it, carried 
about with him a brick as a specimen. 

I left the building wearied and displeased ; and glad- 
ly threw myself into the carriage, and drove to Stoke 
Newington to visit Mrs. Barbauld. I found her an agree- 
able, sensible woman, with infinite good nature in her 
countenance and manner; but nothing that denoted a 
very powerful mind, or even marked the rank which she 
really holds among literary females. A volume of Mr. 
Buckminster's sermons lay upon the table. She told me 
it had been her constant companion ever since she re- 
ceived it ; that the sermons were the best in the world, 
uniting the good sense of the English, with the fervor of 
the French divines. We talked of the comparative state 
of learning in England and America ; and she confirmed 
all the accounts, which I heard before, of the deplorable 
ignorance of the lower classes in this country. Numer- 
ous as the learned and well informed persons undoubtedly 
are, seven persons in eight are unable to read and write. 
We spoke of the late wonderful victory of the Duke of 



312 CORRESPONDENCE. 

Wellington at Waterloo, and of the terrible slaughter by 
which it was gained ; but I could not ascertain her opin- 
ion of the present war. She says it will be time enough 
for America to write books in the next century, — she 
ought now to be cultivating her soil, and laying in a stock of 
learning and taste, to be employed, when the glories of 
England have passed away. She deprecated the intro- 
duction of large manufactories among us, and especially 
the employment of young children in them. An attempt, 
she added, was making to procure an act of Parliament, 
prohibiting the employment of children, under ten years 
of age, for more than ten hours a day. How great must 
be the evil, when such is the remedy ! She did not ab- 
pear to have a very accurate notion of the geography of 
America, and I have found no one who had. They seem 
to think here, that Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington 
lie close together, like Liverpool, Manchester, and Bris- 
tol. It was with difficulty I could escape from her hospi- 
tality, for, after I had declined her invitation to dinner, 
she insisted upon my partaking her beef-steak as a lunch, 
I did not see Miss Aikin, whom I had hoped to find with 
her. 

This morning we went to see West, and were politely 
shown into his picture rooms. There is nothing to be 
seen in England more wonderful than these. It seems 
impossible for an individual to have painted over so much 
canvass in a century, as the pictures which he still re- 
tains in his own possession. In about eighteen months 
he is going to collect together, in one gallery, all that he 
has ever painted, and make one grand exhibition. He 
says they will fill a room four hundred feet long, fifty 



CORRESPONDENCE. 313 

wide, and forty-two feet high ! The Louvre in Paris, 
which contains the accumulated treasures of six centu- 
ries, and of fifty artists, is only one third larger. I had 
much conversation with him ; the substance of which I 
will endeavour to abbreviate. He does not know how 
soon he began to paint, — it was as soon as he began to 
speak. At seven years his inclination was fixed, though 
he had never heard of painting or painters. At twen- 
ty he went from Philadelphia to Rome. There his 
mind was so much excited, he was so constantly in the 
clouds, that he was unable to stay more than three months 
at a time. This state of extreme agitation continued till 
after he was twenty-five, when it gradually settled into a 
placid enjoyment of his art. After three years spent in 
Italy, he returned through France to England on his way 
to America, and arrived in London about the time of the 
first exhibition of paintings. Nothing was painted at that 
time but portraits, — portraits of men, women, and children, 
horses, and dogs, and cats. He put in two small pictures, 
and not knowing that he possessed any remarkable talents 
for painting, was surprised at the attention they received. 
Since that time, he has constantly resided in England. 
The king has been his great patron and friend ; and 
some time (about the American war) employed him for 
fourteen years together at Windsor. It was the king who 
first turned his attention to Scripture subjects, in which 
he so] much excels. The second picture which he has 
painted for the Philadelphia Hospital is much better than 
the first. The British Institution are so well convinced 
of this, that they have given him several hints, that if his 
countrymen are not satisfied, they are perfectly willing to 
27 



314 COBRESPONDENCE. 

exchange. His picture of Christ Rejected, he says, has 
not its fellow in the world, — not in execution, he added 
with a smile, but in subject. It has every passion, of 
which the human countenance is susceptible ; and all the 
intermediate characters are there delineated, from the 
robber Barabbas to the Saviour of the world. I have 
purchased, and shall bring home \\hh me, a few sketches, 
taken from this picture, which will give you some idea of 
the great original. Some of Mr West's pictures are, he 
says, thirty-six feet in height. Christ rejected, which is 
twenty-four feet long and sixteen feet high, he calls, 
pleasantly enough, a half-size. 



Rotterdam, July 4, 1815. 

Who would have thought last year, dear , that I 

should now be writing to you from Holland ? Next July, 
perhaps, we may be taking the air together on Mount 
Caucasus, or enjoying a moonlight walk on the banks of 

the Danube. may be settled in Paris, and 

be gathering flowers in the Netherlands. Two years ago 

we were living quietly in P , neither wishing, nor 

dreaming of a change ; now two of us are wandering 
through England, like Noah's dove, seeking a resting- 
place ; and two more are journeying they know not 
where, in search of they know not what. What will be 
the change of the next year ? 



CORRESPONDENCE. 315 

We left London last Thursday afternoon, spent the night 
at Ingatestone, and reached Harwich on Friday noon. 
Our passage had been previously engaged in one of the 
Government Packets ; but as the wind was contrary, we 
did not sail till Sunday morning. We had a very uncom- 
fortable passage of about thirty hours to Helvoetsluys, in 
a little vessel of sixty tons ; and about forty persons on 
board. We all suffered more from sea-sickness, than in 
our whole voyage from America ; and our sufferings 
were not alleviated by the consideration, that we had 
been most grossly defrauded. At Helvoetsluys we hired 
two carriages for Rotterdam. One was een postivagen 
met twee paerden — (1 can talk Dutch with the best of 
them) — a long narrow cart, without any top, mounted 
upon four wheels. We piled up most of our baggage 
upon this, and surmounted the whole with a large wicker 
basket, containing divers cold chickens, salt tougues. bot- 
tles of porter, &c., the remains of the sea-stores from 
England. On a narrow seat in front, tastefully adorned 

with a yellow plush cushion, sat Mr. and . I 

placed myself forward on a bench with the driver. The 
machine was drawn by one black horse and one white 
one, whose heads were tied together by a rope. Each 
horse was proudly caparisoned with a leathern bridle ; 
round his breast was bound a strip of woollen, apparently 
torn from some tattered blanket ; over this was passed 
a rope, which tied him to the carriage behind, while 
another rope was tied to his nose to enable the coachman 
to hold him in, if by some strange impulse he should be 
induced to move. No saddle, buckle, band, or rein, im- 
paired the simplicity of his appearance. Two ropes and 



316 CORRESPONDENCE. 

a piece of blanket are sufficient for the harness of a roy- 
al coach. The other carriage, een koetz met twee paerden, 
had a roof and was lined within, but was much harder 
than our machine. The horses, too, had something like 
saddles, but were harnessed with ropes like the others. 
When all was ready, our coachman lighted his pipe, 
mounted his seat, placed his foot on the back of the horse 
immediately before him, cracked his whip, and away we 
drove full speed, at the rate of one mile and three quar- 
ters an hour. 

Our way, for some time, lay along the sea-shore, on 
the first dike which guards this strange country. We 
were struck with the propriety of Goldsmith's expression 
in describing Holland, — " Where the broad ocean leans 
against the land." It was apparent to the eye, that the 
greater part of the country was below the level of the 
sea. We soon afterwards left the shore, and crossed the 
country to the second range of dikes. These dikes are 
barriers or ridges of earth, thrown up about twelve or 
fifteen feet high, and broad enough to have a road on the 
top. The country is every where a morass, and the 
houses are built in situations which we should think ab- 
solutely uninhabitable. They are surrounded by moats 
or ditches, where the water remains stagnant only an inch 
or two below the surface of the ground. Round the 
door, there is generally a neat brick pavement, and a 
small bridge across the ditch ;— the pavement is usually 
continued as far as to the road on the dike. The houses 
are built of very small red bricks, with either red tiles or 
thatch on the roofs ; and are always very neat. We 
passed through several villages which were very neat. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 317 

but very ugly. The streets are well paved with small 
bricks, for you know there is not a stone in the country. 
There are no enclosures, for the fields are separated by 
ditches instead of fences. Frequently, however, these 
ditches are planted with willows, which add much to the 
pleasantness of the scene. You cannot have a better 
idea of the country, than by imagining Hampton marsh 
extended as far as the eye can reach, covered with a 
delightful verdure, and studded here and there with a 
village, instead of the haycocks which are now scattered 
over it. The villages are surrounded with trees, planted 
as thick as they can grow, which give them the appear- 
ance of islands in this extensive level. It v/as painful to 
observe the people every where ragged and poor ; but 
the Orange flag was waving on every church, and the 
Orange cockade mounted on every hat and bonnet, — the 
pledge of happier times. 

At sunset, which was about half past eight, we arrived 
opposite Rotterdam, and soon bargained for a boat to 
carry us across the Maese. We directed the boatman 
to land as near the Bath Hotel, as possible. Upon enter- 
ing the city, we were a little surprised at finding him row 
up one street and down another, till we stopped at the 
very door of our house. Upon landing here, to our no 

small disappointment, we found it full. followed 

us in the boat with the baggage, while the rest of us 
walked to another hotel. As we went, I remarked to 

the strangeness of the event, that she and I should 

be wandering about Rotterdam, after nine o'clock at night, 
in search of a lodging ! We are now at a large hotel, 
where the mistress speaks English and the bar-keeper 
27^ 



318 CORRESPONDENCE. 

Stutters it, — the waiters, attached to our appartments, 
speak French, — the boot-cleaner and porter speak in 
German, — and the chambermaids know nothing but 
Dutch. This confusion of languages produces some 

* perplexity, but infinite amusement. , , and I 

have applied ourselves assiduously to the Dutch for two 
days past, and already know some dozen phrases, which 
we are proud of uttering. Rotterdam exactly corre- 
sponds to my notion of Venice. The principal streets are 
canals, filled whh boats and vessels of every description. 
On each side of the canal is a path, paved with brick, 
wide enough for carriages. The walls of many of the 
houses on the back, are also washed by canals, which 
intersect the large ones r.t right angles. I have walked 
round and through the city, and look where you will, you 
see masts of vessels towering above the houses, mingled 
with the trees with which the banks of the canals are every 

where lined. Mr. , a respectable merchant, whom 

I have visited, says, that the hatred against the French is 
inconceivably great. To-m.orrow is a national thanks- 
_ giving for Wellington's victory at Waterloo. The com- 
munication with France is not yet open, though it is be- 
lieved, at present, that the Allies are in Paris, 



CORRESPONDENCE. 319 



Leyden, July 9, 1815. 



My dear 



If has received a letter which I wrote lo 

her from Rotterdam, you will have learned how we came 
to Holland, and in what style we entered the magnificent 
city of Erasmus. After spending three days at Rotter- 
dam, we set out for the Hague on Thursday morning, 
to hear Madame Catalani, who was to give an Oratorio 
for the benefit of the widows and children of those sol- 
diers who had fallen at the battle of Waterloo. The 
performance was fixed at one o'clock, to accommodate 
the king who was going to Amsterdam in the afternoon. 
We hired two splendid carriages, one lined with crimson 
velvet, and the other with orange plush garnished with 
green, — each with a broken bellows-top over the back 
seat, and a canopy of tattered tow cloth, tied in festoons 
over the front seat. Two firey chargers were harnessed 
to each, with a brace of bed-cord, — their long sweeping 
tails being first twisted and tied into a knot, like the hair 
of the American ladies. The coachman grasping his 
cod-line rein m one hand, brandished his eel-skin whip in 
the other, and we soon made the pavement quake under 
us, as if it were trod by one of their own Burgomasters. 
As we approached Delft, we were met by a great crowd 
of women and children, running out of town with every 
mark of terror and consternation. As soon as they saw 
us they lifted up their arms and poured fourth a torrent 
of Dutch gutturals, which sounded like the winding-up 
of a smoke-jack. The coachman immediately stopped. 



S20 CORRESPONDENCE. 

" What is the matter ? " " Turn back, turn back," was 
all the answer we received. At length one woman stop- 
ped and talked with us. Our coachman, understanding 
a little EnglisJi and a little French, acted as interpreter ; 
and after a parley of three or four minutes, we were able 
to guess that one of the dikes had broken loose, and all 
the country was under water. '• Drive on, then, and let 
us see it," was our order. The coachman, with evident 
reluctance, turned his horses and proceeded a few steps, 
— then stopped again to inquire. " The town is on fire ! " 
" Then drive on, and let us put it out." Again he w^ent 
forward, and was again stopped. *' The powder maga- 
zine is on fire! in five minutes the country will be blown 
up ! " It V\^as in vain we urged that there was no dan- 
ger ; and that their stories were so contradictory, that it 
was evidently a false alarm. We were obliged to lose 
half an hour in turning and returning, and debating the 
matter with the coachmen, and in listening to exclamations 
in Dutch. At length a gentleman, who appeared to be 
intelligent, passed by ; and from him we learned that the 
fire was out, and that the powder magazine had been in 
no danger. 

It was now twelve o'clock, and we were six miles from 
Madame Catalani. As the coachmen appeared still to 
be frightened, we wrought u[)on their fears, to make them 
increase their speed ; and therefore besought them earn- 
estly to drive through the town with all possible speed 
before the magazine exploded. Our horses were whip- 
ped into unusual speed, and we had just passed the gates of 
the town, when the coachmen suddenly wheeled about 
and shot out again like an arrow, and actually made the 



CORRESPONDENCE. 321 

circuit of the whole town, rather than pass through it. 
We were fortunate enough, after all our troubles, to arrive 
in good season at the Hague, and, having previously pro- 
cured tickets, we repaired immediately to the great 
church. We had scarcely entered, before a flourish of 
trumpets announced the approach of the king. As I 
had never before been so near to royalty, I was curious 
to examine His Majesty's person. He is rather an ordi- 
nary looking man, — dull, and indolent. He was dressed 
in a military uniform, with a little red scratch upon his 
head. The singing of Catalani surpassed my expecta- 
tions. She is a very lovely woman, — intelligent, dig- 
nified, and modest ; and the sweetness and power of 
her voice truly wonderful. She is now making the tour 
of the continent, satisfied with having received in En- 
gland about fifty thousand dollars a year. She had with 
her some four or five musicians, who took parts in the 
Oratorio, to relieve her from the fatigue of singing all the 
time. One of these was an Italian (Signor Celli), who, 
in singing, literally swallowed his lips, and continually 
excited our apprehension for the safety of his nose. 
When the music was over, the royal family rose to de- 
part, and passed within a few feet of the place where I 
stood. Her Majesty went up and shook hands with 
Catalani, bobbing two courtesies between every word. 
She is a very decorous and comely old lady, and if she 
ever wears spectacles, you have a very accurate portrait of 

her in 's httle book, where the good lady is threading 

her needle by the candle, with the motto, " A miss is as 
bad as a mile." The popularity of the family rests with 
the young Prince, who was wounded at Waterloo, 



322 CORRESPONDENCE. 

Since I have been in Holland, I have done nothing but 
laugh at the Dutch, though an excellent people ; and al- 
most every thing in the country is truly admirable,—- 
worthy of praise, even in comparison with England ; but 
there are many things, which appear to me infinitely ri- 
diculous. The women are very fair, and have generally 
good features, and fine, broad, red, fat cheeks ; but they 
all wear (old and young) a hideous mob-cap, that gives 
them the appearance of sixty years. Take any little 
fat girl that you know, roll her hair to the top of her 
head, and then put over it a hnen mob nightcap, pin a 
large square linen handkerchief over her bosom, dress 
her in a short calico jacket ; accumulate sixteen short 
petticoats, one over the other, of any thick stuff (blankets 
for instance), till she looks like a half-hogshead tub upon 
stilts ; bind her stockings very tight, give her a pair of 
leather slippers with wooden soles, — and you have a Dutch 
girl in her walking-dress. 

But I must not write any more, and so with all seri- 
ousness, dear , I subscribe myself 

Yours most affectionately. 

I saw yesterday some beautiful thimbles of ivory, and 
others of pearl. I wished to buy one for you, but upon 
examination I found them all large enough for a Dutch- 
man's thumb. I am afraid, if I send you one, you will 
mistake it for a nightcap or a wash-bowl. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 323 



Colebrook Dale (Shropshire), September 8, 1815. 

Here we are, dear , among the infernals again,—- 

in the midst of blackness and darkness and smoke, — one 
of the most romantic spots in the kingdom, — covered 
with a dun and sulphurous smoke, issuing from coal-pits 
and iron-furnaces, and every twenty steps presenting you 
with a chasm, that yawns like the jaws of Acheron. 
In the night, the numerous towers and chimneys scattered 
through the valley, which are continually sending out 
columns of flame and cinders, and which shed a thick 
and yellow light upon the surrounding hills, remind you 
of no heavenly objects. Yet this is the spot where the 
finest China is made, and the most wonderful castings of 
iron are executed. Directly in front of my window, as 
I am now silting, is the celebrated iron bridge over the 
Severn, which gives its name to this village. Beautiful 
as it is, I prefer the simple wooden bridges of our coun- 
try, accompanied, as they are with us, widi the appear- 
ance of health and happiness in the neighbouring inhabi- 
tants. We admire the results of the manufacturing in- 
dustry of England ; but admiration is soon changed into 
pity, when we are admitted behind the scenes and witness 
the process. Emaciated bodies, pale, sallow complex- 
ions, hollow voices, and premature decay, are the marks 
of a manufacturing town, — to say nothing of ruinous 
buildings, and dirty, ragged children. Long may it be 
before our country becomes, like England, the work-shop 
i of the world ! 



324 CORRESPONDENCE. 

Our journey from London to this place has been re- 
markably pleasant. We have visited Hampton-Court, 
the favorite residence of Queen Anne, Windsor, Oxford, 
Blenheim, Stow, Banbury (where we bought a two-penny 
cake), Stratford upon Avon, the Vale of Evesham, 
Tewksbury, the Malvern Hills, Worcester, Kidderminster, 
and Bridgenorth. This latter place is one of the most 
remarkable in the kingdom. It stands upon the side of 
a steep and precipitous hill (Miss Owenson would say 
perpendicular and sloping), in which the inhabitants have 
excavated, not only stables and shops, but even dwelling- 
houses. Half way up the hill you will see a window 
and a door in the side of a rock, with a few rude steps 
cut in the stone leading to it, and a precipice, of perhaps 
fifty or sixty feet, rising perpendicularly above it. On the 
summit are the ruins of a tower, which was blown up by 
Oliver Cromwell. The whole mass was lifted up, thrown 
upon one side, and exactly poised on the edge, as if you 
were to balance a chair upon one leg. The mass is forty « 
or fifty feet in height, and though built of small stones, 
is so well cemented, that it will probably resist the attacks 
of time, for two or three centuries to come. * ^ * 

Stow, the seat of the Marquis of Buckingham, is a 
perfect paradise. It not only surpasses all that I have 
yet seen, but equals my wildest imaginations. It was 
laid out, in a situation naturally beautiful, by Capability 
Brown ; a man, who, like Brindley, banished the word 
impossibility from his vocabulary. What think you of 
building a large stone church, to terminate an avenue ; 
and of having a castle erected on a distant hill, to add to 
the general beauty of the landscape ? Yet these con- 



CORRESPONDENCE. 325 

stitute but a small part of the " improvements," as they 
are called. The pleasure-grounds extend through four 
hundred acres. The walks are laid out with exquisite 
taste, and, at every turn, present you with some beautiful 
object, — the church or castle, which I have mentioned 
above ; a column, seventy feet high, to the memory of 
Lord Cobham ; a Grecian temple ; a naval pillar, fifty 
feet in height, to the memory of Captain Grenville ; a 
beautiful building dedicated to Friendship, and containing 
the busts of Chatham, Grenville, Temple, Chesterfield, 
and others, in marble ; one or two beautiful bridges ; — 
but descriptions are always tiresome. I have only one 
thing to add,- — -the family very rarely reside here ! they 
are too rich for enjoyment ; and thirty or forty servants 
are left, to take care of the seat, and show it to stran- 
gers. 

At Stratford, we visited the house in which Shakspeare 
was born ; seated ourselves in an old chair in the chim- 
ney corner, which, tradition says, was his, and enrolled 
our names among the fifty thousand which adorn his 
bedchamber. We next visited the church, where his 
tomb and monument are in perfect preservation, though 
trodden by the feet of so many pilgrims. I could not 
view it without emotion, though there have been such 
constant demands upon ray admiration and sympathy, 
that my feelings have become almost callous. 1 send 
you the inscription from his tomb, copied with its ancient 
orthography. 

On the monument ; 

" Stay passenger, why goest thou by so fast, 
Read, if thou canst, whom envious death hath plast 
28 



326 ' COIvRESPONDENCE. 

Within this monument, Shakspeare ; with whome 
Quick nature dide, whose name doth deck ys. tombe 
Far more than cost ; sich all yt. he hath writt, 
Leaves living art, but page to serve his witt." 



On the stone, covering bis grave ; 

" Good friends, for Jesus sake forbeare 
To digg the dust enclosed heare ; 
Blest be ye. man yt. spares these stones, 
And curst be he yt. moves my bones." 

Though the pleasures of travelling, my dear , are 

apt to kindle the fancy, be assured it is a continual sacri- 
fice of happiness. Nothing but the prospect of home, 
however distant, could render this wandering life even 
tolerable. In a land of wonders, your stock of enthusi- 
asm is soon exhausted ; you become tired of gazing and 
admiring ; you sicken at the heartlessness of a tavern life ; 
and you long for home and regular employment. We are 
now bending our course by a circuitous route to Liverpool, 
and in two months we hope to be with you. I do not 
regret our separation, but I begin to count the moments 
which are to pass before I shall spend a Saturday evening 

with you and , with the children around me, and 

feel once more, that happiness is found only at home. 
May God bless you. 

Affectionately yours. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 327 



Liverpool, September 20, 1815. 

* * * The more I see of England, the more I 
am persuaded, that the middle ranks are the only happy- 
ones. The nobility are too rich ; — they are tempted to 
deprive themselves of real enjoyment, for the sake of 
spending their wealth. They have country-houses, 
which, better than any thing that I have seen, deserve the 
name of palaces, and their grounds would remind you of 
the groves of Eden. Yet they never go there but in 
November to hunt*. The season of flowers they spend 
in town; and, when it becomes too warm to continue 
there with comfort, they hurry from one watering-place 
to another, and submit to be cooped up in a little 
apartment in a crowded and noisy inn, rather than live 
retired for a single week. We spent one day at JVIatlock, 
in the midst of these fashionables ; but we broke from 
it the next morning, as prisoners would from a dungeon. 

In the situation of the poor, I have been entirely dis- 
appointed. They are kept out of sight ; and, excepting 
a few street beggars, you see nothing of them in town or 
country. You see no wretched hovels, like those of 
many of our farmers; no decayed buildings just tottering 
over the heads of the occupants ; but every thing is 
plain, substantial, and in good repair. The passion for 
flowers, too, which is universal, throws an air of elegance 
over the meanest habitations. There is hardly a cottage 
in the country, which has not a pot of geraniums or 
roses at the windows, or a vine or fruit-tree trained 
against its walls. I confess I cannot understand it ; for 



328 CORRESPONDENCE. 

it is certain that one person in nine receives parochial 
aid, in England. I have been struck, too, with the su- 
perior industry of the inhabitants. No occupation is 
considered too degrading. Three well-dressed children 
were yesterday employed, under my window, in collect- 
ing the fresh manure from the streets. They gathered 
it in their hands, and stowed it away in baskets filled with 
straw. I took notice of the same thing frequently on the 
road ; and not only children were so employed, but 
frequently women. The manufacturing towns are so 
many blots on the face of this beautiful country. The 
smoke, and darkness, and dirt are beyond the conception 
of any one, who has never seen a steam-engine set in 
motion by sea-coal. You have taken notice of the thick 
smoke, which rises from a foul chimney just before it be- 
gins to blaze. In Birmingham, Sheffield, and Leeds, you 
have the same smoke pouring from a thousand chimneys, 
and rolling lazily through the streets. In merely riding 
through Manchester, my neck and bosom were filled with 
fire cinders and blackened with soot. Of course the la- 
borers are always dirty and often unhealthy. In entering 
Sheffield we saw a large number of men playing cricket 
in a neighbouring field. I asked If It was a fair. " Oh, 
no, It Is only Monday, and the manufacturers never go to 
work till Tuesday." And why not ? " Because the 
wages are so high. It Is not necessary." It seems, that 
when there is a great demand for goods, you cannot get 
them to work till Wednesday. * -5^ ^ 



CORRESPONDENCE. 329 



Noveml?er, 1816. 

My dear J 

I have been intending, these two or three weeks, 
to visit you ; but, as I can do nothing by candle-light, my 
hours of activity are compressed within a very narrow 
compass, and 1 have Httle leisure for any thing beyond 
my professional employment. I suppose you are now 
settled down in your studies, and begin to form some 
notion of the work before you. It is an arduous work, 
but more than repaid by the pleasure which attends it. 
Believe me, I would gladly go back and engage in the 
race with you. I consider the months in which I studied 
diligently at college (for I did not ahvays study) as the 
happiest of my hfe. There is no situation, in which 
success so immediately attends exertion, — in which merit 
is so certainly followed by reward. After all the clamor 
which you will hear about the prejudices and partiality of 
the Government, it will be your sober opinion (when you 
have left college), that, in every instance, they have 
acted wisely and faithfully. In the distribution of the 
college honors, every member of the Immediate Govern- 
ment has an -equal vote ; and it is, in the nature of things, 
impossible, that they should all unite in favor of an indi- 
vidual, unless his merit had conciliated their regard. For 
prejudice and partiality are always capricious. The con- 
clusion, which I wish you to draw from this, is, that suc- 
cess is in your own power, — that, if you leave college 
with more than one superior in your class, your friends 
will have just cause to be mortified, and to regret the dis- 
23* 



330 CORRESPONDENCE. 

appointment of their hopes. Do not be startled at this, 
and complain that I am laying upon you too heavy a bur- 
den of responsibility. 

Let us examine the subject more particularly, and I 
will v^enture to say we shall arrive at the same conclusion. 
I will take for granted, what perhaps is not the fact, that 
five or six of your classmates have been better prepared 
than yourself, and that three or four are superior in natu- 
ral talents. You have then, at most, but ten competitors. 
Of these, the first class have been better fitted than 
yourself, — either by the accuracy or extent of their studies. 
But how easily may accuracy be acquired, by devoting an 
hour or two every day to a revision of your grammars. 
Do not think this labor beneath your attention ; — it is 
more important than you imagine. Within ten years, 

Chief Justice has studied critically his Latin and 

Greek grammars ; and Rufus King, while Ambassador at 
London, gladly went back to his grammar and dictionary, 
to qualify himself for the classical conversation of the 
scholars of England. By devoting one hour a day to 
your grammar, reading attentively all the remarks, ex- 
ceptions, and examples, you will, by the end of the next 
term, find yourself more than repaid in the ease and 
rapidity of your progress. After that time, this addition- 
al hour of labor bestowed upon classical studies, auxiliary 
to your general pursuits, — upon the rhetorical works of 
Cicero, for example, or Juvenal, or the Iliad, — will soon 
carry you beyond those who were previously your su- 
periors, both in accuracy and extent of learning. As to 
the other class, those who are more richly endued with 
the bounties of nature than yourself, if they study as 



CORRESPONDENCE. 331 

perseveringly and as judiciously as you, there is no help, 
for it, — they will make more rapid progress. I have, 
therefore, allowed you to have one superior, and only one, 
because an union of splendid talents and intense applica- 
tion is rarely found. I do not mean, that persons of re- 
markable intelligence are generally idle ; the contrary is 
the fact, for the quickness of their perceptions only 
stimulates their curiosity and consequently rouses them 
to greater exertions ; but, in nine cases out of ten, it is 
industry, mere human industry, that gains the prizes of 
life. But I will not trouble you with any more prosing. 
Write to me, that you have a good class, and that you are 
determined to be at the head of it, and I will be satis- 
fied. ^ * * 



July, 1818. 

's letter yesterday, my dear , relieved us of 

a part of our anxiety, — I wish I could say the greater 
part. But, though I have never been apprehensive, that 
our friend would sink under his present attack, I have 
foreseen, that he must prepare himself for many months 
— perhaps years — of languor and disease. I have never 
thought it a kindness, to conceal from a patient, or his 
friends, the real extent of danger. Whatever it may be, 
the mind may be brought to meet it with fortitude and 
tranquillity. To the individual himself, it may be of in- 
finite consequence to know in season, that his hold upon 
life is precarious. 



332 • CORRESPONDENCE. 

It is a dangerous habit — because it leads to superstition 
— to be continually inquiring, why a particular event hap- 
pened at a particular time ; or why it came at all. But 
believing as we do, in the overruling providence of God, 
we cannot doubt that every event, proceeding from him, 
was designed by infinite goodness, and directed by infinite 
wisdom. I have no reason to think, that my life lias been 
marked by any peculiar circumstances ; yet in looking 
back upon it, 1 think I can perceive some good purpose 
intended or produced by every disappointment or trouble 
which has befallen me. My first serious impressions 
were received in sickness ; and if they have been pre- 
served or deepened, it has been by repeated attacks of 
disease. I am certain, that, if 1 had enjoyed a life of 
uninterrupted health, I should have been far less deserving 
of the esteem or affection of my friends. I wish to 
bring myself, and you, and all my fiicnds, to such a 
perfect confidence in the goodness of God, as to submit 
with patience, and even cheerfulness, to the disci])line of 
hfe. I am sure, that we are never nearer to happiness, 
than when we can spgak of the afflictions of life, and, 
from trust in God, can add, that " none of these things 
move me." 

We spend many hours in talking about you, and you 
need not be told, that our feelings are deeply interested. 
We would give much to see you for half an hour, to hear 
and tell the thousand little things, which can never be 
written. If I were to be indulged in wishing, I do not 
know that I should desire any thing sooner, than the 
power of impressing my thoughts upon the mind of 
another, without the intervention of language. May not 
this be a privilege of disembodied spirits ? * * * 



CORRESPONDENCE. 333 



November, 1819. 

Well, my dear , four weeks have passed since 

you left us ; and, though I determined from the first to 
write to you immediately, I am but just sitting down to 
perform my resolution. When the habit of writing is 
once lost, it requires very strenuous exertions to regain 
it ; and in writing letters to a friend, there is a peculiar 
difficulty ; — so many interesting recollections and affection- 
ate wishes crowd at once on the mind, that one knows 
not how to begin or what to say first. You must accept 
this as a general apology, first, for not writing soon, and 
lastly, for not writing well. 

I have very constantly inquired about you, and am 
pleased to find, that you are enjoying so much of the 

good society of . Next to the comfort of a happy 

family at home, I place the enjoyment of intelligent socie- 
ty abroad. Besides the knowledge of life which it af- 
fords, it opens to us new views of happiness, corrects our 
prejudices, and makes our kindly feelings spring out and 
flow more fresh and constant. When we see always the 
same faces, in the same room, and hear the same opin- 
ions from day to day expressed in the same words, we 
either acquire a contempt for the littleness and uniformity 
of things about us, or we imagine, that every thing worth 
knowing or loving in the world, is within the verge of our 
own little circle. Half of the selfishness and prejudice 
of the world would be removed, if people would take a 
little pains to know the good qualities of one another. 
In every large family, there should be one or two vedettes 



334 CORRESPONDENCE. 

constantly out, exploring the enemy's country about them. 
I consider you, at present, as engaged in this employ- 
ment ; and as you seem to have penetrated into the 
camp, we shall expect from you a minute report of every 
thing worth noticing in the arms, accoutrements, and 
discipline of the enemy. Jn particular, we wish to be 
informed, whether the ladies are actually clad in armour, 
or whether, like the Amazons of old, they combat with 
the right arm and neck uncovered. We are anxious, 
too, to learn something of the nature of a dandy breast- 
plate ; and we are entirely at a loss to conjecture, wheth- 
er the operation of lacing is performed by the labor of 
men's hands, or by the assistance of a windlass or some 
other powerful machine. But these are high matters, 
and not rashly to be trusted to paper. We look with im- 
patience for your return, to have all our doubts resolved. 
In the mean while, you can tell us of every thing, in the 
habits and employments of society, which deserves to be 
imitated. How do people talk, and what do they talk 
about ? What books do they read ? Whose opinions 
are most correct, and who are the arbiters of taste and 
elegance ? You know there is a fashion in conversation, 
almost as prevalent as that in dress ; and it is necessary 
to have a certain degree of conformity to the one, as 
well as to the other. I could tell you in return of '^ "^ * 



CORRESPONDENCE. 335 



My dear sir, 

I INTENDED, before this time, to have acknowledged 
the receipt of your two Letters to Dr. McLeod, of which 
you did me the favor to send me a copy. 1 read them 
with very great pleasure, and I have lent them to several 
persons, who, I supposed, were not familiar with the facts 
which you have so well stated. When Christian truth is 
thus defended with a Christian spirit, I have no apprehen- 
sions for the issue of theological controversy. 

Permit me to call your attention for a few minutes to 
one of the means of disseminating correct opinions in 
religion, as well as of promoting the interest of piety, 
which I think has been too much neglected by liberal 
Christians, — I mean the circulation of proper religious 
tracts in a cheap form. In every religious controversy in 
New England, the question must at last be decided by 
the great body of the people, — by the well-meaning and 
inquisitive, but uneducated and illiterate. The specula- 
tions of the learned have very little influence beyond the 
immediate circle, to which they are communicated. The 
multitude are governed by early habits or strong impres- 
sions, and where they are exposed to opposing influences, 
these habits and impressions cannot be secured by the 
ordinary modes of preaching or writing. It cannot have 
escaped your observation, that in many parishes may be 
found individuals of no remarkable powers of mind, of 
very limited knowledge, and sometimes of doubtful char- 
acter, who yet have acquired and maintained an influence 
that has not unfrequently baffled the exertions and de- 



336 CORRESPONDENCE. 

stroyed the usefulness of their pastor. These men are 
not to be met by arguments ; but their instruments are to 
be taken from them by preoccupying the minds of the 
poor. And this can be done only by cheap religious 
tracts. 

The tracts which Wells and Lilly are now publishing, 
though of great merit, are objectionable on two accounts ; 
first, they are reprinted from the English tracts without 
any alteration to adapt them to the manners and state of 
society in this country, and on that account lose half their 
influence ; and secondly, they are too dear by at least two 
thirds. This will appear from the following statement. 
In these days of controversy, a poor man, who receives a 
tract as a present from a superior, is very apt to regard it 
with suspicion and distrust. He fears it is designed to 
entrap his understanding, to make him a partisan against 
his will ; whereas a pamphlet which he purchases him- 
self, at a shop, he reads with unhesitating confidence ; he 
values it more highly, and preserves it with more care, 
than if it had been given to him. We have experienced in 
our political contests the entire inefficiency of pamphlets 
gratuitously distributed. Newspapers, voluntarily procur- 
ed and paid for by their readers, have been the great 
instruments of party warfare. 

Now the temptation to purchase a pamphlet with a 
promising title, which costs only a cent, is almost irresist- 
ible. Our friends at Andover perfectly understand this 
policy. I have now before me a Sermon of Professor 
Porter's, which cost me at a bookseller's shop, by retail, 
one cent and two mills ; and the success of this mode of cir- 
culation is apparent from the fact, that of this very sermon 



CORRESPONDENCE. 337 

twenty-four thousand copies have been sold. I have on 
my desk another little tract retailed for less than half a 
cent, of which thirty thousand copies have been sold. 
It is scarcely credible what numbers of these tracts are 
continually sold to persons who buy them only because they 
are cheap. Price's " Sermons on the Christian Doctrine," 
if published at Andover, would cost nine cents and one 
mill. 

I am the more earnest in urging these facts upon your 
attention, because I believe it to be the great error of the 
liberal party in this country, that they have addressed 
themselves too exclusively to the cultivated classes of 
society. Books should be written and printed for the 
poor and illiterate, and sold so cheap that they cannot 
choose but buy them. We must not give occasion for 
the slander of our adversaries, that we consider Unitarian- 
ism as the religion of gendemen, and that we are willing 
to leave the poor to grope about in the darkness of error 
and delusion. ^ 

I beg you to excuse the liberty I have taken in com- 
municating to you these desultory remarks. Believing, 
as I do, that uncorrupted Christianity will finally prevail, 
and that men will at last abandon the subtilties of a false 
philosophy for the teaching of our common Lord, I can- 
not but wish to see more of pious simplicity and charita- 
ble zeal in my own day, and to do whatever may be in 
my power to promote the good cause. 

29 



338 CORRESPONDENCE. 



Friday, June 9. 
My dear , 

's journey to Concord offers me so fa- 



vorable an opportunity of writing a few lines to you, 
that I cannot well lesist the temptation, though I have no 
particular claim at present to urge myself upon your 
attention. I wish to express to you the interest which 
we take in your welfare, our frequent remembrance of 
you, and our affectionate wishes for your happiness. We 
often inquire about you, and have received, with more 
satisfaction than I can well describe, the accounts of your 
health and tranquillity. It is a subject of congratu- 
lation wath all your friends, that you have so patiently 
and firmly supported yt ur recent afflictions. If your 
trials have been unusually severe, your consolations have 
been equally great ; — and I am persuaded that every 
affliction is an occasion, not only for gratitude, but for 
cheerfulness, which brings with it higher hopes and 
brighter views than we have been accustomed to indulge. 
1 had the melancholy pleasure of paying a visit to our 

friend , about ten days before he died. I went out 

to Lincoln to see him. He told me that his friends 
united in assuring him that he had but a few days to re- 
main with them ; but he expressed his own opinion that 
he should probably live a month or two longer. This, as 
I was afterwards told, was only a transient feeling, pro- 
duced by the excitement of my visit. He was then up, 
and walked from his bedroom to the parlour without as- 
sistance. But his strength soon afterwards rapidly de- 



CORRESPONDENCE. 339 

clined, and he at length fell asleep, wondering at hhnself 
that he was able to meet death with so much comfort and 
cheerfulness. 

I do not know that we should pray for discipline ; but 
when I look back upon the last five years of his life, and 
see every thing that was unamiable or defective in his 
temper or habits, gradually giving way and improving 
under the influence of pain and sickness and disappoint- 
ment, and his whole character gradually ripening into 
Christian perfection, I am sure 1 would not have a single 
circumstance changed. Those who knew him well, 
perceived every day the progress of humility, gentleness, 
and patience ; and though he spoke very rarely of his 
religious feelings and not often of his religious opinions, 
it was evident that his Christian hope was daily becoming 
more bright and steady. I have lost in him a very sin- 
cere and valuable friend ; but while I am able to trace 
the effects of disappointment in him, I am sure I ought 
not to grieve for what may be discipline for myself. In 
the recent death of Mrs. , you too have lost a valu- 
able friend. I had no personal acquaintaince with her, 
and 1 have heard no account of her for several weeks 
past ; but I know that she was then informed of her dan- 
ger, and that she received the tidings with as little emo- 
tion as could have been anticipated. I place very little 
stress upon the scenes of a dying chamber, whether of 
comfort or despair, unconnected with the past life ; but it 
is surely a blessing to have no distressing associations 
with the last hours of a departed friend. 

I heard speak of her intention of writing to you, 

about a week ago j but I do not know whether she has 



340 CORRESPONDENCE. 

done so or not. I do not hesitate however to use her 
name, and assure you of our affection and of the pleas- 
ure which a letter from you would give, whether to her, 
or us. We indulge a hope, a very faint and distant one 
1 acknowledge, of taking a journey of a few days in the 
course of the summer, and returning home through Con- 
cord. 

Affectionately yours. 



Portsmouth, October 9, 1820. 
My DEAR , 

Your very affectionate letter was delivered to me 
just as I was going to Exeter to attend the Superior 
Court ; this was followed by the Circuit Court, and I 
have not till now found much leisure to answer it. In- 
deed, while necessarily engaged in business, I felt a re- 
luctance to turn my attention to myself or my family, 
and was glad to postpone to a season of quiet, all 
thoughts of my loss. I thank you most sincerely for your 
remembrance. My affliction has been great, as that of 
every parent must be at the removal of an engaging child ; 
but it was not unexpected, and was met, I hope, with re- 
ligious fortitude. The htde boy had been too long sick, 
and had suffered too much, to permit us to presume upon 
the continuance of his life. About a month before his 
death, I removed my family to Newington to try the ef- 
fect of an entire change of air upon him, and from that 



CORRESPONDENCE. 341 

time we watched over him daily as a victim prepared for 
the altar. When the sacrifice was required, it was offer- 
ed up, I trust, with feelings of reverence and submission, 
but mingled with confidence and hope. Indeed, I cannot 
understand why any one, who believes in the wisdom and 
goodness of God, can repine at any event which proceeds 
immediately from him. For my own part (and I can 

speak for too) dearly as we have loved our children, 

I think the world has no inducement strong enough to 
lead us even to wish them back. It is well for us, for we 
needed discipline ; it is well for them, for they are re- 
moved from the dangers of the world, and we have the 
declaration of our Saviour that ^' of such is the kingdom 
of heaven." 

I make very little pretension to religious improvement ; 
yet miserably imperfect as I feel my religious character 
to be, I am fully persuaded that my habitual sense of the 
wisdom and goodness of God is the source of all my 
happiness, — not merely of comfort under affliction, but the 
very spring of enjoyment in health and prosperity. If at 
any time this confidence is shaken or obscured, a cloud 
seems to rest upon every thing about me ; and the dear- 
est objects of life lose their power of communicating 
happiness. 

I never felt more fully the value of the belief of an 
overruling Providence, than when I read, a few weeks 
ago, the introduction to the sixth book of Quintilian. He 
too had lost his children, and under circumstances of more 
aggravated suffering ; but he could see nothing in the event 
but the hand of a powerful and perhaps malignant being. 
He could scarcely indulge a hope that they continued to 
29^ 



342 CORRESPONDENCE. 

exist ; and this hope, feeble and glimmering as it was, was 
still more deeply obscured by the apprehension that they 
were still under the control of the same malignant destiny 
that had removed them from life. You cannot conceive 
with what emotion I thought of the words of our Saviour, 
" Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not." 

I did not mean to dwell so much upon my own feelings, 
but I could scarcely get out of the train of thought 
which I have so long pursued. It has been the one sub- 
ject, perpetually recurring, at my evening fire-side. 



Portsmouth, June 28, 1821. 
My dear , 

If you were unacquainted with affliction, or were now 
for the first time to look around you for the sources of 
consolation, I should not venture so soon to write to you. 
I should leave you to the workings of your own mind, 
and only offer my prayers for you in silence. But I thank 
God, that the fight of Heaven is not now for the first time 
to beam upon you ; that you are not a stranger either to 
the language or the feelings of piety ; and that, much 
as you must suffer, your sorrow is mingled with hopes 
which you would not exchange for the happiness of the 
world. 

When I saw the death of your good father announced 
in the papers yesterday, I was penetrated with the liveli- 



CORRESPONDENCE. 343 

est sorrow. The remembrance of all the kind feelings 
and good actions, which I had witnessed in him, came 
fresh upon me, and I placed myself for a moment in your 
situation, and felt what it would be to lose a father. Yet 
why should we mourn ? He has descended to the grave 
in the midst of his strength and usefulness. We know 
that " it is w^ell with him," and we may be equally con- 
fident, under the government of Infinite Wisdom and 
Goodness, that it is well for us. Apart from every con- 
sideration of a higher nature, there are comforts attending 
the event, to which you ought not, and cannot be insensi- 
ble. You are spared the pain of witnessing the decays 
of old age ; of having your last associations connected 
with weakness and imbecility ; of being obliged to direct, 
where you were accustomed to obey; and of having 
your respect and veneration for a parent weakened by 
pity, and even by the necessary exertions of filial piety. 
He has descended to the grave with a spotless name, and 
followed by the regrets of the many, whom he was bene- 
fiting by his exertions and his example. We could not 
wish him to have lived till he had ceased to be useful, 
and was forgotten even by his former friends. He has 
lived to see you returned in safety, to see your course in 
life distinctly marked out, and to witness your entrance 
upon an honorable career of usefulness and improvement. 
And though all his wishes respecting you were not yet 
accomplished, yet when could he have left you with less 
anxiety, or with higher hopes ? 

But it is not for us to limit our views to our comforts, 
or to our prosperity. It is our happiness to know, that 
every thing here has relation to something hereafter. 



344 CORRESPONDENCE. 

Your father has been taken away, that you may feel 
more entirely your dependence upon God alone. He 
has discharged his duties to you and to society, and has 
now left you to supply his place. My dear friend, if 
that place is well supplied, if those new duties are right- 
ly performed, are you not taking a higher station as a 
moral agent, — are you not earning for yourself a brighter 
reward ? Is it not the goodness of God, which is placing 
you in a situation of greater responsibility, and giving 
you an opportunity of greater moral improvement ? Is it 
not the goodness of God, which is adding one more at- 
traction to the invisible world, and is giving you a new 
motive for devoting yourself to his service ? Can you 
ever think of " the spirits of the just made perfect," of 
" the church of the first-born," without thinking of both 
your parents, and without feeling that you, too, must be 
there ? And is it not the goodness of God, which is 
giving you, in early manhood, such strong ties to Heav- 
en ? To have had parents whom we can look back upon 
with unmingled respect and veneration, is no common 
privilege, and is one not lightly to be valued. I am 
sure you feel it, as I do ; and you will feel happy, too, 
that yours are now removed from sin, and danger, and 
temptation, — that their trials are ended, and that they 
have " finished their course with joy." I pray God to 
make you worthy of them. * ^ ^ 



CORRESPONDENCE. 345 



January 1, 1823. 

My dear , 

It is not merely in compliance with custom, or as 
an expression of unmeaning civility, that I sit down, to 
wish you " a happy new year." I wish you, indeed, a 
happy, very happy year, a year of exertion and improve- 
ment, a year of contentment and hope, a year of bles- 
sings received, and of gratitude returned. I wish you 
health and domestic enjoyment, the society and affection 
of your friends, and the happiness of knowing that they 
are worthy of your love. I wish you the highest bles- 
sings of Christian friendship, the unshaken hope of meet- 
ing in heaven those w^hom you have loved upon earth. 
I wish you, in all the trials of life, constancy and pru- 
dence, an active zeal, and an unwearied spirit; useful- 
ness and diligence in health, in sickness patience, comfort, 
and cheerfulness ; and in the last hour, an unwavering 
faith, and a hope full of immortality. 



June, 1823. 

* * * There is much animation and some pleas- 
ure in this situation. I long, however, to be with you. 
'There is no danger, as you apprehend, of my learning to 
love this sort of life. There is too much bustle and ex- 
citementj and I may add, there is too much perfidy and 



346 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



folly to be witnessed, to render it agreeable. My person- 
al friends, however, are men, of whom one might easily 
be proud. I am receiving, too, from all around me, acts 
of kindness wholly unexpected and undeserved. One 
has just occurred worth njentioning. * -J^ * What 
can I say to all this ? What can I do to deserve it ? 
When I think of all the happiness I have enjoyed, my 
heart overflows, I hope with gratitude to God, who has 
given me such distinguished blessings. I am sure, not 
one repining or discontented thought ought to be indulged 
for the rest of my life. I have every thing that is usual- 
ly desired as the means of happiness ; and I feel that 
greater exertions and higher improvement are required of 
me, than of any one with whom I am acquainted. For 
who has been so blessed ? 

I have been twice at church, and heard Mr. , a 

young man, who has a very intelligent countenance, and 
preaches very well. I think, perhaps 1 may say I am 
sure, that I am willing to accept any system of doctrines 
which I can be convinced, or can have probable reason 
to think, is a revelation from God. I endeavour to keep 
my mind open to conviction, and therefore do not dwell 
so much upon the progress of party, as I should other- 
wise do. 

I procured from the book-store, yesterday, a copy of 
Dr. Osgood's Sermons, but I have had but little time to 
look into it. I have read, however, the greater part of a 
sermon on " the Sabbath," which I think the finest dis- 
quisition upon the subject that I have ever met with. I 

believe has the volume ; if so, I wish you woM 

borrow it, and read that sermon. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 347 



June, 1824. 
My dear , 

The first employment to which I resort on Sun- 
day evening is, ahiiost necessarily, a letter to you. I 
could not, under any circumstances, pass a day without 
thinking of you ; but on Sunday, spending most of the 
time in my chamber, almost every thing I think or read 
is associated with home. The day has been one of un- 
common beauty ; the sun has not been a moment ob- 
scured, and the brilliant blue sky has scarcely been 
marked with a cloud. The winds have been hushed ; 
and though the air was cool, there was something in it of 
a spring-like feeling, which almost every one remarked. 

I have heard a very sensible young man to-day, Mr. 
. He preached this afternoon on the duty and im- 
portance of religious conversation among Christians. I 
was much struck with one passage in his sermon. 
" Christians," said he, " what do you suppose will be 
your future employment in heaven ? or what is now the 
employment of the angels who surround the throne of 
God, or of those happy spirits, who are already received 
in heaven, and are described as * the just made perfect.' 
Is it not the praising of God, and dwelling upon his in- 
finite perfections ? Is it not remembering and communi- 
cating the instances of his boundless love to his creatures ^ 
Is it not recounting the wise, though mysterious plans of 
his providence, by which they have been brought to vir- 
tue and happiness ? It is not striving to increase in them- 
selves and those around them, the feelings of reverence 



348 CORRESPONDENCE. 

and love to God, which already possess their whole 
souls ; of confidence in his wisdom, which every new 
fact in his providence impresses more deeply upon them ; 
of gratitude, humility, and joy for the redemption of the 
world through Jesus Christ ? Such ought to be, such are, 
the employments of heaven. But if you were admitted 
to that happy place, what would be your emotions on 
finding a dull, blank silence ! — silence in heaven ! — silence 
among the spirits of the just ! — silence among the angels 
of God ! Christians ! you are silent when you meet on 
earth ; or you talk of trifles, still worse than silence ! and 
yet you hope and pray for the employments and happi- 
ness of heaven ! " I have not preserved his language ; 
but you will easily imagine that such thoughts, uttered 
with an air of simplicity and sincerity, were very impres- 
sive. ■ You know we have often talked together upon the 
same subject ; but I do not know that I ever felt before 
so strongly, either the propriety or the duty of making 
the introduction of religious conversation a distinct object, 
— an object to be always had in mind, and to be carried 
into effect, on every suitable occasion. 

I never feel more strongly attached to you, dear , 

than when I have been for a short time separated. My 

dear , let us pray earnestly for each other, that we 

may not be separated for ever. We are apt to think that 
because every thing goes on happily with us 7iow, it will 
always be so. But our lot has been one of almost unex- 
ampled prosperity. How little have we done, compared 
with what we might have done ! how little have we done, 
compared with what others less advantageously situated 
have done, and still do ! I do not mean that we have 



CORRESPONDENCE. 349 

lived altogether idle or useless lives ; but how little have 
we done for ourselves or others, that has involved any 
self-denial ! " Doth Job fear God for nought ? " said 
the tempter. " Hast thou not made an hedge about him, 
and about all that he hath, on every side ? " If we have 
been in any measure distinguished from those of our own 
age and rank in life, by our regularity and domestic hab- 
its, we have been abundantly rewarded for it in our do- 
mestic happiness. It is small merit in us that we remain 
at home, when we merely follow our inclinations in do- 
ing so ; or that we continue a respect for religion, which 
was inculcated on us from infancy ; or that we give to 
the poor, what we do not want for ourselves ; or that we 
preserve contentment and cheerfulness in the possession 
of almost every earthly comfort. Our danger is in con- 
sidering our situation safe, because we are guilty of no 
flagrant sins, or because we respect religion and talk 

about it. My dear , I make these reflections more 

on my own account than on yours. I am under no unu- 
sual excitement ; but when I feel serious and reflecting, 
I am dissatisfied, I wish I could say, I tremble for myself, 
— but I cannot bring myself to so adequate a feeling of 

the importance of the subject. My dear , may God 

bless you, and make you every thing good and happy. 
Let us save ourselves and owr children, even at the cost 
of every thing else which life can bestow. "^ * * 

30 



350 CORRESPONDENCE. 

Portsmouth, March 18, 1826. 
My dear , 



So far from wondering or being displeased at your 
anxiety, I am glad to find your attention excited. I am 
far more solicitous, that you should be a Christian, than 
that your name should be enrolled in this or that particu- 
lar sect. The only caution, which I wish to give you at 
present, is, to avoid all metaphysical theology. 

The Gospel was first preached to the poor ; it must 
be, therefore, in its essentials, such as the poor can un- 
derstand, without the refined reasoning of scholastic logic. 
Go then to the Bible, and place yourself, in imagi- 
nation, at the feet of Jesus Christ. Listen to his instruc- 
tions, and endeavour to understand them in the sense in 
which he gave them. Whatever he states as fact, re- 
ceive as fact, without addition or limitation. Whatever 
directions he gives are to be implicitly followed ; but still 
without increasing or diminishing them. Half of the er- 
rors and bitter animosities of religious sects have arisen 
from the attempts of vain or subtile men to engraft their 
own system of philosophy upon the religion of Jesus 
Christ. At the same time pray to God fervently, con« 
stantly, to be led into the truth ; and while you endeav- 
our seriously, calmly, and in the exercise of your best 
faculties, to examine the question, you may feel a happy 
conviction, that whatever your ultimate opinions may be, 
you will be preserved from d^ny fatal error. ^ * -s^- 

The Christian religion may be said to commence with 
the baptism of John. In Acts xviii. 25. Apollos is said 
to be " instructed in the way of the Lord, and, being 



CORRESPONDENCE. 351 

fervent in the spirit, he spake and taught diligently the 
things of the Lord, knowing only the baptism of John." 
And in the next chapter, certain persons are spoken of 
as " disciples," who were baptized only '' unto John's 
baptism." In Mark i. 1. the preaching of John is called 
" the beginning of the gospel of Jesus," &ic. Now what 
was this preaching ? — " Repent ye, for the kingdom of 
heaven is at hand." " Bring forth fruits meet for repent- 
ance." " John did baptize in the wilderness, and preach 
the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins" 
When those who heard him, inquired, " What shall we 
do then ? " he prescribes kindness and charity, to the 
common people ; justice, to the tax-gatherers ; a peace- 
ful deportment and habits of contentment and subordina- 
tion, to the soldiers. That is, he directs each class to 
practise particularly those virtues, which they were most 
frequently disposed to violate or neglect. 

I infer from these passages, first, that all men need re- 
pentance ; secondly, that they are able to repent ; thirdly, 
that repentance for sin can be proved only by the prac- 
tice of the opposite virtues ; fourthly, that before tjie mani- 
festation of Jesus Christ, repentance, thus proved, was 
sufficient to obtain the remission of sins. I do not say 
that repentance ever deserves the remission of sins 5 but 
that, by the mercy of God, it was so appointed. 

Let us see if our Saviour made any alteration in these 
doctrines. " Jesus began to preach, and to say. Repent ; 
for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." Matt. iv. 17. 
He uses, you perceive, the very words of John, and gives 
the same reason for repentance, namely, that the reign of 
the heavens (as it is literally) had draw^n near. There 



352 CORRESPONDENCE. 

was to be a revolution in the moral character and condition 
of men ; a revolution that had not then commenced, but 
was only at hand ; and a necessary preparation for this, 
was repentance. As John directed his followers to bring 
forth fruits meet for repentance, our Saviour, immediate- 
ly after preaching repentance, delivered the Sermon 
on the Mount, in which he describes the character of 
those who are truly happy, and enjoins the practice of 
piety and of a pure and exalted morality. In other 
words, like John, he commands his followers to " bring 
forth fruits meet for repentance." But he says nothing 
of that doctrine, which, according to modern opinions, 
lies at the foundation of all religion, — the total corruption 
of man's nature. He treats them as actually sinners, but as 
sinners by their own fault, and of their own will, and as 
morally capable of performing the conditions upon which 
the favor of God depended. " Ask, and it shall be given 
you." The gift, then, depends upon the asking. "If ye 
forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father rf/ also 
forgive you ; " " With what measure ye mete, it shall be 
measured to you again ; " and twenty other passages in 
the discourse, of the same purport. I do not know how 
these passages may strike your mind, but to me they 
seem conclusive as to this fact, that men have morally 
the power of doing the will of God. When the Saviour 
of men commands me to " ask, " and, as an encourage- 
ment to perform the duty, promises, that if I ask, I shall 
receive, I cannot for a moment doubt, that I have the 
power to ask, and that my reception of the gift depends 
upon my first asking. It concerns me as little to know 
whether the spirit of God first induces me to ask, or co- 



CORRESPONDENCE. 363 

operates with me in asking, as to know whether the power 
of God is immediately exerted, or cooperates with some- 
thing else, in giving physical ability to raise my arm. It 
is enough for me, that I can raise my arm, without in- 
quiring into the precise connexion between matter and 
mind ; and it is enough for me, that I ccm ask, and that 
when I ask, I shall receive, without knowing the precise 
mode in which the effect is produced. 

In process of time, after onr Saviour had openly mani- 
fested himself to the world, one other condition of salva- 
tion was added to the two former, of repentance and 
good works ; namely, a behef in Jesus Christ as the Son 
of God. The tenor of the Scriptures, which I have 
carefully examined for this purpose, leads me to believe, 
that the true meaning of this proposition is the following ; 
— that Jesus Christ was the chosen messenger of God, 
and a person of exalted dignity ; that God so spake by 
him, that the commands he gave, the promises he made, 
and the threatenings he denounced, are to be received 
implicitly as the commands, threatenings, and promises 
of God. Here, then, we have the whole of Christian 
duty resolved into repentance, faith, and ohedience. I 
find nothing in the Scriptures required beyond these; and 
the question now is. What is necessary for repentance, 
faith, and obedience ? 

When John the Baptist, and our Saviour, exhorted 
men to " repent," what did they consider necessary pre- 
vious to repentance ? Nothing. They appealed to that 
sense of guilt which each of their hearers carried in his 
own bossom ; and they merely called attention to it. 
The substance of their preaching was, — " There is a 
30^ 



354 CORRESPONDENCE. 

great moral change about to take place in the world, the 
kingdom of heaven is at hand ; repent, and take your 
part in this change ; form a new plan of life, practise, 
virtues of the most sublime character, and thus bring forth 
fruits meet for repentarfce." As to faith, it is simply 
belief upon testimony. It is the natural consequence of 
evidence, when examined, and duly considered. But, 
as a man may refuse to hear testimony, or to weigh it 
when heard, faith is in some measure voluntary, and 
therefore has a moral quality. Hence the command to 
believe, and the merit (I use the word for want of a bet- 
ter) ascribed to faith, in the Scriptures. When the 
Apostles went forth to preach, they asserted certain facts, 
and produced the proof of them. For example, " This 
Jesus hath God raised up, whereof ive all are ivitnesses" 
And a man, who believes the facts stated in the Scrip- 
tures upon the testimony there given, and dwells upon 
those facts until he feels their infinite importance, does 
believe, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, in the scrip- 
tural meaning of the terms. To prevent misunderstand- 
ing, it should be added, that faith is often used for the 
whole of Christian duty, as both repentance and obedi- 
ence will be the natural consequences of belief in the 
instructions of Jesus Christ. As to obedience, we have 
already seen what was commanded in the Sermon on the 
Mount ; every sentence of which implies a moral ability 
to perform the command. And not a word is said of 
any thing being necessary previous thereto, or of any 
particular manner in which obedience is to be paid. 

I come now, after this long introduction, to answer the 
particular subject of your letter — What is regeneration ? 



IP CORRESPONDENCE. 355 

I answer, A change of character or situation, considered 
either with respect to the past character or situation of 
the individual himself, or with respect to the character 
and situation of others. The word was one of familiar 
use among the Jews and Greeks, to express a change of 
external situation or fortune. When a Gentile embraced 
the Jewish religion and submitted to the rite of circum- 
cision, he was said to be born again. And in the same 
sense, the church of England, in the baptism of infants, 
says, " Seeing now, dearly beloved brethren, that this 
child is regenerate, and grafted into the body of Christ's 
church," &ic. 

Cicero, in one of his letters to Atticus (vi. 6.), has the 
following passage ; " Amicorum literae me ad triumphum 
vocant, rem a nobis, ut ego arbitror, propter banc 
naXiyysvsalav nostram, non negligendam." " The letters 
of my friends invite me to a triumph ; a ceremony, in 
my opinion, not improper on account of this my regen- 
eration" — alluding to the honors which he had received 
on his return from exile. 

Probably Matthew xix. 28, " Ye which have followed 
me in the regeneration," is to be explained of external 
situation, in somewhat the same manner. But generally, 
in the Scriptures, " regeneration," " being born again," 
" being a new creature," he, mean a change of character, 
and are nearly synonymous with conversion. It may 
help us, therefore, to inquire. What is the meaning of 
conversion ? converted from what ? to what ? " He that 
converteth a sinner from the error of his ways," &c. 
" Except ye be converted," says our Saviour, " and be- 
come as little children, ye shall not enter into the king- 



356 CORRESPONDENCE. 

dom of heaven." They were not to be converted from a 
corrupt nature, but from the error of their ways ; and 
they were to become as humble, docile, and free from 
actual sin (that is, as pure), as little children; "for of 
such is the kingdom of heaven." 

Most of the difficulties and perplexities of this subject 
have arisen from the various interpretations of our Sa- 
viour's conversation with Nicodemus, — a passage of ac- 
knowledged obscurity, and concerning which scarcely 
two commentators are agreed. I wish, however, to call 
your attention to two or three circumstances, which may 
help us to understand it. " Art thou a master of Israel," 
.says our Saviour, " and knowest not these things ? " The 
subject of the conversation, therefore, was such as a 
Jewish t'eacher might be expected to know. " If I have 
told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye 
believe if I tell you of heavenly things ? " The conver- 
sation, therefore, was not of the higher mysteries of the 
Christian faith ; the subject of it was such, as might be 
called earthly things, when compared with other topics of 
a higher nature. 

Nicodemus was a Pharisee^ and therefore beyond doubt 
a formalist, laying great stress on the external acts of 
religion, proud of his privileges as a Jew, and his distinc- 
tion as a Pharisee 5 he was a ruler of the Jews, and 
therefore unquestionably believed (as did even the Apos- 
tles until after the resurrection) in a temporal Messiah, — 
in a conqueror, who should deliver them from the Roman 
yoke; he came to Jesus hy night, probably because he 
was afraid or ashamed to come by day. Yet he ac- 
knowledged Jesus to be " a teacher come from God." 



CORRESPONDENCE. 357 

Now, for what purpose did he come to Jesus ? It might 
be, first, either to satisfy himself whether Jesus were the 
Messiah or not ; or, secondly, admitting him to be the 
Messiah, to ascertain what he should do to secure his 
favor. 

Whichever his motive might be, our Saviour perfectly 
understood it; and addressing himself to the precise char- 
acter of Nicodemus, he says, " Verily, verily, 1 say unto 
thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the 
kingdom of God." That Nicodemus should not under- 
stand this personal remark, is not surprising. That he, a 
Jew, must become a proselyte to a new religion, or that 
Ac, a Pharisee, must be totally changed, or advanced in 
his situation and fortune (for you may take it either way), 
was absolutely incredible to him. Conceiving, therefore, 
that the words could not be used in their common figura- 
tive sense, he resorts to the hteral meaning as the more 
probable of the two. Our Saviour then repeats the asser- 
tion in the same emphatical words, " Verily, verily, I say 
unto ^Aee," but alters the doubtful phrase of being horn 
again, — " Except a man be horn of water, and of the 
spirit," he. As if he had said, " You, Nicodemus, Jew, 
Pharisee, as you are, you must become a proselyte to a 
new religion, and that openly (not secretly, by night, as 
you now come to me, but by performing a public act), by 
being baptized, and what is more, you must be changed 
in character ; you must become spiritual instead of for- 
mal ; you must not rest your hopes in external ordinan- 
ces ; you must be born of the spirit, as well as of water. 
' That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which 
is born of the spirit is spirit.' That is, when you make 



358 CORRESPONDENCE. 

a proselyte to Judaism, and cause him to be born again, 
by submitting to the external ordinances of Judaism, he 
is still only a Jew outwardly ; being born of the flesh, he 
is flesh ; but when his character is changed, when he 
has imbibed the spirit of your religion, then he is ' a Jew 
inwardly,' ' his circumcision is that of the heart, in the 
spirit, and not in the letter.' You address me as a 
' teacher come from God,' because I ivorked miracles, 
and you spoke just now of being born again, in the literal 
sense of the words, as if you expected something mirac- 
ulous in the change. But there is no room for wonder ; 
I am not speaking of any miraculous or sensible agency, 
but of the operation of natural causes. ' Marvel not 
that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind 
bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound 
thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither 
it goeth ; so is every one that is born of the spirit.' You 
see in the one case, as well as in the other, the effect of 
natural (that is, not miraculous) causes." 

Your next question is. Whether regeneration does not 
sometimes take place suddenly, instantaneously. I an- 
swer, Yes, sometimes, — but probably not often. The 
operations of the human mind are directed by certain 
established laws, and, as far as these have been investi- 
gated, they act uniformly in similar cases. The conver- 
sion of St. Paul was sudden, instantaneous. He was 
a young man of ardent feelings, pure morals, and warm 
piety, zealously devoted to what he believed to be the 
cause of true religion. He verily believed that he was 
doing God service in persecuting the Christians, because 
he verily beheved Jesus to be an impostor. But when 



CORRESPONDENCE. 359 

Jesus, in the brightness of his celestial glory, presented 
himself to him in the way, and spoke to him, he could 
no longer doubt. There was not room for a moment's 
hesitation. He became a Christian. And so would any 
one, who, with the same character, had entertained the 
same doubts. When a gay and thoughtless young man 
sees one of his companions suddenly drop down and ex- 
pire, in the midst of his sport, he feels for the time a 
deep sense of the uncertainty and frailty of human life. 
If he cherishes this feeling, and dwells upon it, until he 
has made it habitual, and, of course, acts upon this habit- 
ual feeling, making it the great business of his life to 
prepare for death, he is converted, regenerated, he is 
become a new creature, — and suddenly, if' you please. 
But if the same effect is produced upon another young 
man, not by any one striking event, but by the concur- 
rence of a thousand small events, no one of which has 
been of sufficient importance to leave a trace on the 
memory — (a serious thought, excited in a solitary walk, 
renewed on hearing a sermon, recurring again on reading 
the Bible, and deepened by some disappointment or 
affliction, again and again in a course of years), this last 
is converted, regenerated, as well as the former. For it 
is to the effect we look, and not to the particular manner 
or time of its production. 

It is not usual, in the course of God's providence, for 
great effects to be produced at once ; you cannot go back 
to the beginning of a plant, so as to say, that at one mo- 
ment it was not, and at the next, it is. You cannot trace 
back the progress of your ow^n character, so as to find 
the beginning of your knowledge, your virtues, or even 



360 CORRESPONDENCE. 

of your habits. You have grown up to be what you 
are in body, and in mind, by the same gradual process. 
It is in the power of God to create men full grown, in 
the possession of all their faculties and strength, as he did 
Adam. It is in the power of God to communicate knowl- 
edge at once, as he did to the Apostles, who were ena- 
bled to speak in languages which they had never learned. 
And it is in the power of God to call men at once from 
the love of vice to the practice of virtue. But this is 
not his ordinary mode. He acts by means, and by 
gradual means ; by parental instruction, by education, by 
the example of others, by the events of providence, and 
the teaching of his spirit. One of the old Puritans used 
to say, that if parents every where did their duty, domes- 
tic education, and not preaching, would be the ordinary 
means of regeneration. 

You ask, further, if regeneration be brought about by 
the special agency of the spirit of God, or by our own 
exertions and means. I answer, in the first place, that 
we know nothing about the mode of operation of the 
spirit of God, and therefore the scholastic distinction of 
a general and special agency is vain and presumptuous, 
receiving no countenance from the Scriptures, the only 
source of knowledge on this subject. I believe most 
devoutly in the constant operation of God's spirit upon the 
human mind ; but then I believe, as firmly, that this ope- 
ration is perfectly consistent with free agency, and that it 
cannot be discerned by us. It is probable the same sort 
of influence which the minds of our fellow-beings exer- 
cise over us, and consists in the suggestion of trains of 
thought. When you read this, I shall be operating upon 



CORRESFONDENCE. 361 

your mind by the suggestion of certain arguments and 
opinions ; the next train of thought into which you fall, 
may seem to you to arise naturally from what you are 
now reading, and yet it may, in fact, be suggested by the 
spirit of God. I believe, most firmly and habitually, in 
the superintending providence of God, and yet I do not 
believe in a succession of miraculous (or special) inter- 
ferences. A very slight change in the order of succession 
of my thoughts may lead me to some place, or to do some 
thing, which, bringing me within the operation of other 
existing causes, may change the whole course of my life. 
But enough of this. I answer, secondly, in the language 
of our Saviour, " If ye, being evil, know how to give 
good gifts unto y£ur children, how much more shall your 
heavenly Father give the holy spirit to them that ask him" 
For evenj one that asketh, receivelh ; and he that seeketh, 
findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened." 
Language cannot be plainer. Whether regeneration be 
brought about by our means and exertions or not, it is 
certain that our exertions and means are necessary for 
this purpose. We must ask, seek, knock. The very 
passage which declares, that " it is God who worketh in 
us, both to will and to do of his good pleasure," com- 
mands us to " ivork out our own salvation." 

Your last question is. If regeneration depend upon our 
own exertions, how and when are we to commence, and 
be assured we have attained to it ? The first part of the 
question is already answered. We are to repent, and to 
" bring forth fruits meet for repentance." " Draw nigh to 
God, and he will draw nigh to you." " I will arise and 
go to ray Father, and say to him, Father, I have sin- 



362 CORRESPONDENCE. 

ned." The first step is to be made on our part, — God is 
ever ready to receive us. 

As to the second part of the question, we are to judge 
of our religious state by the unerring rule of our Saviour, 
— by the fruits it produces. " Whosoever believeth that 
Jesus is the Christ, is born of God." " Who is he that 
overcomeih the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is 
the Son of God ? " " The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, 
peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness^ faith, meek- 
ness, temperance." " And they that are Christ's have 
crucified tlie flesh with the affections and lusts." Read 
also the Sermon on the Mount. Whoever can find in 
himself, in any prevailing degree, these characteristics, 
may safely conclude that he is born of God. He hath 
the witness in himself. All other assurances of safety 
are fallacious. A man knows himself to be religious,, 
as he knows himself to be honest, just, or temperate, — 
that is, by his habitual intentions and actions. 

A large number of religious sects believe in the inrnie- 
diate, sensible operations of God's spirit, which many of 
them conscientiously associate with the holding of their 
peculiar doctrines. This is the case with the Quakers 
(who are Arminians, and about half of them Unitarians) ; 
with the Methodists, both Calvinlstic and Arminian ; with 
the Moravians 5 the Smith Baptists (who are generally 
Unitarians), he. Now, as many of these sects are good 
men, and true Christians, and as it cannot be that the 
" one spirit " should teach contradictory doctrines, it must 
be that they mistake the operations of their own minds 
for divine impulses. The authority of Jesus Christ 
should settle this question. " Not every one that saith 
unto me. Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of 



CORRESPONDENCE. 363 

heaven ; but he that doeth the will of my Father which 
is in heaven." 

I have thus endeavoured to give a particular answer to 
your questions. I do not present ray views to you as the 
truth, but as my opinion of the truth. I wish you to take 
nothing on my authority, but search the Scriptures and 
examine for yourself. Pray to God, who is the Father 
of lights, to enlighten your understanding and lead you 
into the knowledge of all necessary truth. Let your 
prayers be frequent and fervent, and join to them a 
careful reading of God's word, especially the teachings 
of Jesus Christ, and you cannot fall into any dangerous 
error. ^ ^ * 



March 26, 1826. 
My dear , 

I THINK you are perplexing yourself with a mere 

scholastic subtilty, when you doubt the genuineness of 

your repentance, because you are restrained from sin, 

only by fear of its consequences to yourself. 

You say, " Did I not see, that it places me in a very 
critical situation, I know not that I should feel any desire 
to change my motives and feelings." 

Now I would ask, why you are placed in that critical 
situation ; why the wrath of God is denounced against 
sinners ; and why they are " warned to flee from the 
wrath to come ? " Are not men addressed as moral 
agents ? as susceptible of the influence of motives ? as in- 
fluenced in their conduct by their hopes and fears ? Were 
not these threatenings intended to produce some effect ? 



3C4 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



If SO, what effect but fear of the anger of God ? If a 
man acts upon this motive, is it not then a good motive ? 
a motive, which God himself presents to us? Surely, 
when our Saviour told the Jews, " Except ye repent, ye 
shall all likewise perish," he meant, that they should re- 
pent, and for that reason too. 

I think I cannot mistake, in calling a fear of future 
punishment a Christian motive. It is not, to be sure, the 
highest Christian motive, ^' for perfect love casteth out 
fear ; " but it is a motive, upon wdiich Christians are again 
and again called to act, by Jesus Christ and his Apostles, 
The Christian character is one of gradual growth. This 
is sufficiently proved by the example and precepts of the 
Apostles ; and surely none of us, uninspired men, have 
reason to complain, that we have not at once " come un- 
to a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the 
fulness of Christ." 

It is easy to make refined metaphysical distinctions, and 
to show by plausible arguments, that we ought to love vir- 
tue in the abstract, — " the supremely good and fair," as 
the Stoics called it, — for its own sake, and without any 
reference to ourselves. But such opinions, I think, have 
no foundation in human nature, and they are certainly at 
war with the language of Scripture. 

If we are commanded to love God, it is because " he 
first loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for 
our sins." If we are to bear our " light affliction," it is 
because " it worketh for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal weight of glory." If we are to rejoice at reviling 
and persecution, it is because " great is our reward in 
heaven." I can feel no doubt of the purity of motives, 
which are thus sanctioned by the words of Jesus Christ. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 366 

I must again warn you against the danger of making 
mere feeling the test of character, or of spiritual condi- 
tion. The very night, in which Peter denied his master, 
he professed with vehemence (and doubtless, at the same 
time, felt that he was sincere), " If I should die with thee, 
I will not deny thee." In the parable of the Pharisee 
and the Publican, who went up together to the temple to 
pray, the Pharisee had no doubt of his acceptance with 
God ; while the Publican had not sufficient confidence 
even to lift up his eyes to heaven. 

A still higher example is furnished by our Saviour. 
When he exclaimed in his agony on the cross, " My God, 
my God, why hast thou forsaken me ! " it cannot be 
doubted that he enjoyed the favor of God, as fully as 
when, at the grave of Lazarus, he said to his Father, 
" I knew that thou hearest me always." 

There may be much sensibility on religious subjects, 
and much talking, and profession, and preaching, where 
there is no change of character ; because the whole may 
arise from mere feelings — sincere feeling, no doubt, at the 
time, but unsupported by religious principles. This strong 
feeling may be a very good introduction to a religious life, 
but it is not itself religion. " Not every one, that saith 
unto me, Lord, liord, shall enter into the kingdom of 
heaven ; but he that doetJi the will of my Father which 
is in heaven." And we are told further, that in the day 
of judgment many shall be rejected, who have even 
" prophesied " and " cast out demons," and done " many 
w^onderful works." 

The case which you mention of , is doubtless a 

very striking one ; and so far as it terminates in a real 
change of character, in a course of Christian conduct. 



366 CORRESPONDENCE. 

I shall rejoice in it with all my heart. I think, however, 
that a more advanced Christian would have been less 
forward to speak of his willingness — not to say his wish 
— to die. St. Paul had labored in his manifold perils 
thirty-one years before he ventured to express his " desire 
to depart," and a still longer period, before he was able 
to say, that he was " now ready to be offered." The 
first converts of the Apostles, on the day of Pentecost, 
were endued with the power of working miracles and of 
speaking in foreign languages, to qualify them for preach- 
ing the Gospel ; but all I find recorded of their feelings 
is, that they " did eat their meat with gladness and single- 
ness of heart, praising God." 

It is unsafe to place any confidence in this willingness 
to die ; for if it prove any thing, it proves too much. 
When a votary of Juggernaut throws himself before the 
car of the idol, to be crushed to pieces by its wheels, 
what does it prove ? — that he is a good man ? a new 
creature ? regenerated by the power of Juggernaut ? 
When a deluded Hindoo widow mounts the funeral pile 
of her husband, and deliberately suffers herself to be 
burned to death, do you infer, that she is peculiarly a 
favorite of God, — -that she will certainly attain that felici- 
ty, which she believes herself sure of possessing ? Cer- 
tainly not ; you merely say, that these several persons are 
acting under the influence of a very highly excited state 
of feeling. The truth is, there is no safe rule, but that 
of our Saviour — " By their fruits ye shall know them ; " 
and time is necessary to bring these fruits to maturity. 
You can judge but little from the first swelling of the buds. 
It is not uncommon for those who are the most impet- 
uous in their zeal, and the loudest in their religious pro- 



CORRESPONDENCE. 367 

fessions, in seasons of general excitement, to relapse 
afterwards into the grossest sins. 

With regard to yourself, if the present excitement be 
the means of awakening you to a deeper sense of the 
importance of your situation, as a moral and accountable 
being ; of impressing you more strongly with a feeling of 
your actual guilt ; of animating your prayers, and quick- 
ening your zeal ; I shall rejoice, that you are at , and 

shall acknowledge the goodness of God, which, in his 
providence, led you there. 

From the tenor of your letter, I apprehend, that you 
entertain an opinion (perhaps unperceived by yourself), 
that something is necessary previous to repentance ; that 
some change must be wrought in you before you can re- 
pent. But is this the doctrine of the Scriptures ? Does 
Jesus Christ, when he calls upon men to repent, say one 
word of their inability to repent ? It is true, that Jesus 
Christ is said to be exalted by God, to give repentance 
and forgiveness of sins ; yet it is also said, that " if ye, 
being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your chil- 
dren, how much more shall your heavenly Father give 
the holy spirit to them that ask him." " Ask, and ye 
shall receive." Ask repentance, and it shall be given 
you. Seek the favor of God, and you will certainly find it. 

While I attach so much importance to character, to 
conduct, to doing the will of God, you must not under- 
stand me as intimating, that the good works of any man 
can deserve eternal hfe. On the contrary, I am well 
assured, that all our hopes of acceptance must be found- 
ed upon the mercy of God, — upon the undeserved mer- 
cy of God. But, then, it has pleased >God to reveal to 
us, that his mercy is not arbitrarily bestowed, but is given 



368 CORRESPONDENCE. 

upon condition (in the same manner as Adam's continu- 
ance in Paradise depended upon condition), and the per- 
formance of that condition is the only firm ground for our 
hopes, and the only sure evidence of our acceptance with 
God. 

I see nothing in your situation to encourage the despon- 
dency with which you seem to be oppressed. On the 
contrary, the Scriptures hold out every thing to animate 
you. " Him that cometh unto me," says our Saviour, 
" I will in no wise cast out." " Behold I stand at the 
door and knock ; if any man hear my voice, and open 
the door, 1 will come in to him, and will sup with him, 
and he with me." There is sophistry enough in the world, 
to obscure these plain declarations of our Saviour ; but 
make the Bible, and the Bible only, — in its plain, simple 
import, such as the poor, the blind, and the maimed in 
the streets of Jerusalem understood it ; — make the Bible 
only your guide, and you will learn to look upon God, as 
your Father in heaven, who has graciously put your hap- 
piness in your own power, and is holding out the most 
glorious rewards to invite you to virtue and happiness. 
"Wait on the Lord ; be of good courage, and he shall 
strengthen thy heart." 

I do not wish you to adopt my views of religion, if 
they are not supported by the Scriptures. I appeal fear- 
lessly to the Bible. Read it daily, especially the Gospels, 
the Acts of the Apostles, and the Psalms ; read it with 
fervent prayer, that your mind may be enlightened, and 
I can safely promise you, that, in a very little time, you 
will have "joy and peace in believing." * * * 

THE END. 





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